Z#z/j 


SERVICE  OF   SORROW 


LUCRETIA   P.  HALE. 


B O STUN  : 

AMERICAN     UNITARIAN     ASSOCIATION. 


867. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of    Congress,  in  the  year  1866,  by 

THE    AMERICAN     UNITARIAN    ASSOCIATION, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE  : 

PRESS   OF    JOHN   WILSON    AND    SON. 


PAGE 

Our  Summer 5 

The  Repose  of  the  Meadow 17 

The  Comforter 20 

Our  All  in  God 22 

God  Disposes 23 

The  Sorrow  of  Death 25 

Substitution 28 

Consolation 29 

"Blessed    are    they    that    Mourn;     for    they 

shall  be  Comforted  " 30 

The  Vision 38 

Prayer  of  Archbishop  Laud's  ........  40 

how  shall  i  take  sorrow? 41 

Cleansing  Fires  .  • 46 

Sorrow.  Sermon,  by  T.  Colani 48 

The  Soul  that  Suffers 73 

a 


iv  Contents. 


PAGE 

From  Letters  of  Joubert  to  a  Friend    ....  74 

The  Battle  Summer 81 

God  is  Present  in  our  Trouble 87 

In  Presence  of  Battle 89 

The  Divine  Life 91 

The  Soldier's  Death  in  Battle 93 

A  Child's  Death 115 

The  Discipline  of  Uselessness 119 

Words  of  Christ,  David,  and  Paul 130 

Be  Strong    .....  132 

Acquainted  with  Grief 133 

Past  Suffering • 134 

Seen  and  Unseen 136 

The  Burden  of  Life    .     .  ' 140 

Who  shall  Deliver  Me? •     ...  149 

A  Gay,  Serene  Spirit 151 

Good  and  Evil 152 

Disappointment.     Sermon,  for  New  Year's  Day,  by 

Christoph  F.  Ammon 155 

•  Night  Musings      . 176 

Troubles  which  Come  to  us   through   the   Mis- 
takes or  Misconduct  of  Others    ....  178 

Judge  Not 188 

Extract  from  Mad.  Swetchine 190 

Sadness  and  Gladness 191 

Immortality 196 

The  Presence  of  God 203 

The  Mystery 205 


Contents. 


PAGE 

Of  Death 206 

The  Memory  we  Leave  behind 208 

Sonnets 212 

Immortality.     A   Sermon  preached   on  All-Saints 

Day.     By  A.  Tholuck 214 

Christ  must  needs  have  Suffered.     A  Sermon, 

by  Edward  E.  Hale 233 

The  Shore  of  Eternity 246 


Though  Night  has  climbed  her  highest  peak  of  noon, 
And  bitter  blasts  the  screaming  Autumn  whirl, 
All  night  through  archwajs  of  the  bridged  pearl, 
And  portals  of  pure  silver,  walks  the  moon. 
Walk  on,  my  soul,  nor  crouch  to  agony; 
Turn  cloud  to  light,  and  bitterness  to  joy, 
And  dross  to  gold,  with  glorious  alchemy, 
Basing  thy  throne  above  the  world's  annoy. 
Rest  thou  above  the  storm  of  sorrow  and  of  ruth 
That  wars  beneath ;  unshaken  peace  hath  won  thee. 
So  shalt  thou  pierce  the  woven  glooms  of  truth; 
So  shall  the  blessing  of  the  meek  be  on  thee ; 
So,  in  thy  hour  of  death,  the  body's  youth, 
And  honorable  eld,  shall  come  upon  thee. 

Tennyson. 


FR   SUMMER. 


f  I  ^HE  house  to  which  we  came  for  the  sum- 
-*-  mer  was  far  down  the  village  street,  just 
where  it  began  to  stray  away  among  the  fields 
and  hills.  In  front  was  a  broad  meadow,  yel- 
low with  cowslips  as  we  reached  there,  and 
waving  with  grass ;  so  that  the  children,  as 
we  left  the  carriage,  instead  of  waiting  for  the 
pleasure  of  watching  the  heavy  trunks  taken 
down,  instead  of  satisfying  their  curiosity  with 
hurrying  into  the  house  to  see  what  sort  of  a 
place  we  were  to  spend  the  summer  in,  ran 
away  across  the  road,  plunging  into  the  grass 


The  Service  of  Sorrow. 


to  see  if  they  could  reach  some  of  the  flowers, 
—  "  the  real  country-flowers  !  " 

In  front  was  this  broad  meadow,  resting  the 
eyes  that  looked  upon  it ;  behind,  a  stretch  of 
wood  that  sloped  gradually  to  the  foot  of  some 
steep  hills.  Gertrude,  when  all  the  bustle  of 
arrival  was  over,  sat  at  the  window ;  and  I 
could  see  that  the  broad,  quiet,  green  meadow 
was  bringing  rest  already  to  her  tired  soul  and 
body.  Clara  came  to  her  mother's  side,  and, 
leaning  against  her,  wondered  that  all  houses 
were  not  built  with  a  meadow  in  front. 

Johnie  would  have  liked  it  better  as  it  was 
at  the  house  where  we  dined,  where  there  were 
geese  in  a  pool  by  the  door ;  and  Martin  in- 
sisted that  brick  streets  and  brick  houses  were 
best  after  all,  but  he  consented  to  go  out  and 
see  where  the  barn  was. 

A  short  rest  and  quiet,  while  the  boys  went 
into  the  barn,  and  the  girls  hurried  up  stairs 
"  to  choose  their  rooms,"  and  the  mother  and  I, 
in  the  few  moments  of  silence,  looked  out 
over   the   green   grass.      The   rest   was    soon 


Our  Summer. 


broken  by  the  squabbles  of  the  two  older  girls, 
who  wanted  the  same  room ;  for  they  never 
would  think  of  sharing  it.  Each  came  down 
with  her  own  complaint  and  her  own  plea. 
"Clara  always  had  the  best,"  complained 
Ellen ;  "  it  was  but  fair  she  should  have  the 
first  choice  for  once."  And  Clara  insisted  that 
"  the  oldest  had  a  right  to  choose  ;  and  she  was 
the  oldest."  And  dreamy  Rosa,  the  third 
girl,  was  appealed  to  by  both  sides,  and  gave 
answer  in  favor  of  either. 

By  this  time,  the  boys  came  in,  and  Martin 
had  kicked  John,  and  there  were  more  troubles 
to  be  attended  to ;  so  Gertrude  turned  away 
from  her  meadow,  and  set  to  work  to  compose 
a  peace. 

But  the  meadow  was  still  there.  That  could 
not  be  taken  away  from  us.  And  Gertrude, 
after  calming  the  children  in  some  wonderful 
way,  set  me  in  a  comfortable  chair  by  the  win- 
dow, "to  rest  after  the  journey,"  while  she 
went  up  stairs  to  settle  this  weighty  question  of 
the  rooms,  bearing  the  boys  along  with  her. 


8  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

So  I  was  left  alone  to  rest,  and  to  wonder  at 
the  quiet,  and  to  wonder  over  again  at  the 
power  that  had  brought  about  the  quiet..  For 
Gertrude  had,  all  her  life,  herself  been  a 
spoiled  child.  And  when  my  brother  died, 
and  left  her,  his  wife,  with  seven  children  to 
manage,  and  children  very  difficult  to  rule,  the 
first  question  was,  who  could  take  care  of  Ger- 
trude? She  had  always  been  taken  care  of, 
petted,  caressed,  cloyed  almost  with  the  goods 
of  life.  She  had  never  been  allowed  the  care 
of  her  house  or  her  children.  Frank  could 
not  bear  an  anxious  shade  upon  her  face. 
"  His  wife  should  never  drudge,  nor  wear  her- 
self out,  like  other  women."  So  he  heaped 
upon  her  luxuries,  gratified  her  tastes,  an- 
swered her  wants  before  she  could  speak  them, 
and  insisted  upon  taking  all  care  upon  himself. 
And  she  had  submitted. 

I  was  just  beginning  to  discover  that  this 
serenity  of  Gertrude's  was  true  submission. 
For  now,  with  the  necessity,  there  developed  in 
her  the  power  of  rule.     For  the  time  of  trial 


Our  Summer, 


had  come.  The  friend  who  had  tried  to  shield 
her  from  all  care  and  sorrow  could  not  save 
her  from  this  greatest  grief  of  all,  from  the 
separation  of  death. 

How  impossible  it  is  for  us  to  pick  out  only 
the  joys  of  life  for  our  friends  to  live  upon  ! 
Every  one  who  lives,  must  live  through  his 
own  amount  of  hardship  and  suffering.  Even 
the  hyacinth,  in  the  soft  air  of  the  greenhouse, 
has  to  break  through  the  hard  rind  of  its  shell, 
must  cut  through  the  heavy  clod  laid  over  it, 
before  its  germ  can  find  its  way  up  into  the 
warm  air.  It  must  have  the  same  fight  after 
light  and  sunshine  that  the  snowdrop  outside 
in  the  flower  border  has. 

It  is  very  useless  in  us  to  plan  quiet,  shielded 
lives  for  our  friends,  much  as  we  would  long 
to  do  it, — useless  and  foolish.  Care,  sickness, 
and  death,  we  have  no  power  to  shut  out.  No 
one  else  can  live  our  life  for  us.  Every  man 
must  live  for  himself,  must  bear  his  own  sor- 
row, must  find  out  for  himself  the  earnestness 
of  his  own  life. 


io  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

And,  thank  God !  all  these  things,  so  beyond 
our  little  grasp,  lie  in  his  hands.  Care  and 
sickness  and  death  come  through  the  hands  of 
God  as  do  the  joys  of  life.  In  looking  back, 
what  hour  of  our  own  sorrows  would  we  have 
given  up,  where  only  our  own  happiness  has 
been  affected?  In  remembering  the  strength 
that  has  come  to  us  from  conflict,  we  remember, 
too,  the  triumph,  —  the  peace  so  hardly  wrung. 
The  way  of  the  cross  has  become  the  way  of 
light.  We  could  not  see  the  path  before.  We 
were  groping,  cast  down,  overwhelmed.  Now, 
as  we  look  back,  the  light  of  success  shines 
over  the  dark  moment,  and  we  are  grateful  for 
its  deepest  agony. 

As  I  look  back  upon  my  past  life,  and  recall 
the  long  hours  of  wearisome  sickness  ;  shorter, 
sudden  pangs  of  more  overwhelming  sorrow ; 
moments  and  hours  which  I  could  never  have 
borne  to  look  forward  to,  —  I  can  recognize 
the  strength  that  came  out  of  the  weakness,  the 
power  that  was  born  of  the  sorrow.  I  might 
shudder  to  pass   through   them   again,  but  I 


Our  Summer.  n 


could  not  bear  to  cut  them  out  of  the  history  of 
my  life.  I  could  not  do  without  the  strength 
they  gave. 

This  bitter  baptism  we  would  fain  spare  our 
friends.  We  would  like  to  save  them  from  the 
evil,  not  being  well  able  to  tell  what  is  for 
them,  the  evil  or  the  good.  So  still  for  Ger- 
trude I  was  planning  and  hoping  for  quiet  and 
ease,  hoping  that  this  undisturbed  summer's 
life  might  give  her  rest  from  her  great  sorrow, 
time  for  her  mourning,  and  repose  after  the 
sudden  grief  into  which  we  had  been  thrown. 

The  voices  of  the  children  sounded  down  to 
me,  as  they  were  coming  back  through  the 
entries,  —  happy,  satisfied  voices.  Gertrude 
had  arranged  every  thing. 

"To  be  sure  there  was  only  one  chamber 
looking  into  the  cherry-tree,  but  cherries  would 
not  last  all  summer  long ;  and  Ellen  should 
have  the  room  over  the  little  porch,  and  Rosa 
the  dressing-room ;  and  the  boys  the  large 
room  in  the  end,  where  their  voices  would  not 
disturb   Aunt   Ann's    morning   nap.      As   for 


12  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

cherries,  too,  there  were  trees  in  the  garden 
that  all  could  climb." 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  Ellen;  "lazy  Clara  might 
eat  the  cherries  from  her  window-seat,  but  it 
would  be  far  jollier  to  climb  the  tree." 

Whether  a  fresh  contest  arose,  I  do  not 
know,  as  the  voices  went  off  into  another 
room,  and  began  to  settle  about  the  furniture. 

I  went  on  wondering  at  Gertrude's  power. 

But  a  character,  indeed,  that  has  any  moral 
force  in  it,  is  spoiled  no  more  by  favors  and 
luxuries  than  it  is  crushed  by  adversities.  It 
is  only  weak  souls  that  are  hurt  by  indulgence. 
The  spoiled  child,  nursed  and  petted  by  its 
parents,  has  not  the  heart  to  appreciate  the 
self-sacrifice  with  which  they  devote  themselves 
to  its  happiness.  It  selfishly  absorbs  all  the 
goods  laid  within  its  reach,  and  vegetates  in  its 
own  atmosphere  of  self.  Very  often,  it  despises 
the  very  idolatry  upon  which  it  is  fed ;  and,  as 
it  grows  up,  fancies  itself  superior  to  the  kind 
souls  that  have  not  given  themselves  time  to 
grow.     It  can  never  appreciate  the  grandeur 


Our  Summer.  13 


of  the  larger  souls  that  have  been  willing  to 
yield  to  all  its  desires.  Theirs  may  have  been 
a  mistaken  fondness,  but  they  have  been  grow- 
ing larger  and  greater  by  the  very  act  of 
giving. 

But  there  is  a  way  of  receiving  generously, 
as  there  is  a  way  of  giving  ungenerously. 
The  habit  of  receiving,  or  submitting  to  bene- 
fits, may  have  a  cramping  power,  but  not  upon 
a  noble  soul.  It  is  waiting  its  own  time  for 
giving,  and  is  gathering  strength  in  its  inac- 
tion. The  time  of  inaction  may  be  too  pro- 
longed, and  the  soul  grow  rusty  from  want  of 
using  its  weapons ;  but  a  rich  nature  finds 
always  some  use  for  its  soil,  even  if  it  has  not 
been  ploughed  and  harrowed  for  corn  and 
grain. 

After  all,  thought  I,  it  is  not  the  quiet,  sunny 
meadow  that  Gertrude  is  needing  in  her  trials. 
She  is  beginning  upon  her  true  duties,  —  upon 
the  action  of  life.  She  has  been  helped  too 
long,  and  now  she  is  to  help  others.  She  was 
right  in  insisting  that  Clara  and  Ellen  should 


14  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

not  go  back  to  the  boarding-school  from  which 
they  were  summoned  at  their  father's  sudden 
death.  She  declared,  too,  that  she  was  fully 
able  to  take  care  of  little  fragile  Rosa.  And 
she  was  very  sure  she  could  contend  with  the 
boys,  especially  in  the  country,  where  there 
was  plenty  to  occupy  them. 

"  It  is  strange,  indeed,  that  any  one  should 
doubt  that  I  could  take  care  of  my  own  chil- 
dren," she  said,  with  a  pained  smile,  sadder  in 
its  way  than  any  I  had  yet  seen  on  her  face. 

Brave  heart !  she  let  Fred,  the  oldest  boy, 
go  back  to  his  regiment.  She  was  willing  to 
have  him  follow  in  his  father's  steps,  I  believe, 
even  to  the  end. 

I  heard  her  brave,  cheery  voice  again  as  she 
came  down  stairs  with  the  children.  They 
wanted  to  make  a  procession  to  take  me  to  my 
room,  if  I  were  quite  rested  now.  It  over- 
looked my  meadow,  and  a  cushioned  chair 
waited  me  there ;  and  Ellen  had  put  a  mug  of 
the  yellow  cowslips  on  the  window-sill,  and 
Gertrude  had  scattered  round  some  home-like, 


Our  Summer.  15 


pretty  things  she  had  taken  from  her  trunk, 
that  took  away  the  look  of  newness  from  the 
room,  and  gave  it  an  air  of  welcome. 

"Now  go  down,  wild  beasts,"  she  said  to 
the  children,  who  were  beginning  to  be  noisy 
again,  "  and  I  will  come  directly,  and  go  with 
Johnie  to  see  his  chickens." 

I  looked  at  her  with  wonder,  and  then  with 
gratitude  at  all  she  was  doing  for  me. 

"  Our  summer's  consolations  are  beginning," 
she  said,  as  she  looked  out  of  the  window. 
"I  can  see  they  are  to  be  very  various,  —  an 
open  place  for  us  to  look  out  upon  and  to  think 
in,  — and  an  open  space  for  the  children  to  play 
in." 

"  Repose  and  action  for  you,"  I  said ;  w  but 
I  fear  there  is  to  be  too  much  of  the  last." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  not  yet,  not  yet ! "  she  cried  out. 
"  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  think  now :  it  is 
better  for  me  to  have  to  act." 

There  was  a  sudden  call  for  her,  and  she 
went  away ;  and  so  our  summer  begun.  We 
had  out-of-doors  and  in-doors  to  help  us,  and 


1 6  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

friends  who  spoke  with  look  and  word,  and 
books  and  letters  to  read.  And  some  of  this 
comfort  I  laid  by  in  store,  thinking  it  might 
continue  to  help  me,  if  I  held  on  to  it;  that  it 
might  help  me  again,  or  that  it  might  be  of 
service  to  others ;  and  it  lies  all  together  in 
the  following  pages. 


THE   REPOSE   OF  THE   MEADOW. 


\  FTER  the  shock  of  a  great  sorrow,  one 
■*■  -*-  of  our  first  feelings  is  a  consciousness  of 
the  want  of  sympathy  of  all  nature  with  our 
grief.  The  day  is  bright  and  glad,  the  sun 
shines,  the  flowers  open  gayly,  and  the  birds 
flutter  through  the  leaves.  There  is  no  sigh 
in  answer  to  ours.  No  word  of  comfort  comes 
to  me.  Day  after  day  passes  on  in  the  same 
round,  and  my  loss  is  unnoticed.  The  happy 
summer  brings  the  remembrance  of  former 
summers  with  it,  — "  the  crown  of  sorrow," 
this  remembering  "  happier  things  ;  "  and  the 


The  Service  of  Sorrow. 


very  joy  of  nature  adds  a  fresh  agony  to  our 
grief. 

This,  at  least,  is  one  phase  of  our  sorrow. 
Happily,  it  is  only  a  part  of  that  bitterness  that 
spreads  from  our  own  unhappiness,  and  over- 
flows and  colors  all  the  gayety  that  surrounds 
us.  Happy  it  is,  rather,  that  our  wishes  are 
not  granted ;  that  the  heavens  do  not  put  on 
clouds  to  sympathize  in  our  mourning ;  that 
we  wake  up  rather  to  a  glad  day,  after  our 
own  night  of  tears. 

The  offices  of  nature  are  always  repairing  : 
the  fresh  blades  of  young  grass  gather  the 
dead  leaves  into  the  soil,  and  do  not  stay  to 
mourn  over  the  loss.  Without  noise,  and 
gently,  the  healthy  sight  of  the  spring  comes 
to  renew  our  worn-out  spirits.  Our  tired  eyes 
rest  on  the  peaceful  landscape.  If  its  glad 
beauty  makes  no  appeal  to  us,  it  is  our  own 
fault.  If  only  we  will  be  willing  to  accept 
each  summer  day  of  sunshine  as  a  special  gift 
to  our  grieved  hearts,  we  shall  find  a  consola- 
tion that  is  new  every  day. 


The  Refose  of  the  Meadow.  19 

There  are  very  few  truly  quiet  moments  in 
this  busy  world  of  ours.  A  summer  day  brings 
them  sometimes,  when  they  cannot  be  found 
at  any  other  time.  For  a  little  time,  one  may 
forget  to  think,  when  there  is  a  soft,  whisper- 
ing breeze  among  the  leaves,  a  hum  of  insects, 
a  pleasant  talking  among  the  birds,  a  waving 
in  the  tall  green  grass,  cloud  shadows  floating 
across  the  meadows,  and  a  quiet  and  rest  there, 
that  spreads  at  last  into  the  tired  brain  and 
heart. 

This  is  not  the  only  comforter.  It  is  no 
comforter  at  all,  if  we  have  no  other  to  listen 
to.  If  we  have  no  work  in  the  world,  we  can 
have  no  comfort  in  repose.  If  we  do  not  learn 
how  to  seek  after  the  Highest  in  the  depths  of 
our  own  souls,  we  cannot  learn  to  feel  his 
presence  in  outward  things.  But  how  many, 
how  various  joys,  indeed,  has  the  most  sorrow- 
ing heart ! 


THE   COMFORTER. 


ET  not  your  heart  be  troubled :  ye  be- 
-*— ^  lieve  in  God,  believe  also  in  me.  In  my 
Father's  house  are  many  mansions  :  if  it  were 
not  so,  I  would  have  told  you.  I  go  to  prepare 
a  place  for  you.  And,  if  I  go  and  prepare  a 
place  for  you,  I  will  come  again  and  receive 
you  unto  myself,  that  where  I  am,  there  ye  may 
be  also. 

I  will  not  leave  you  comfortless  ;  I  will  come 
to  you.  Yet  a  little  while,  and  the  world  seeth 
me  no  more  ;  but  ye  shall  see  me.  Because  I 
live,  ye  shall  live  also. 


The  Comforter.  21 

Peace  I  leave  with  you,  my  peace  I  give  unto 
you  :  not  as  the  world  giveth,  give  I  unto  you. 
Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be 
afraid.  Ye  have  heard  how  I  said  unto  you,  I 
go  away,  and  come  again  unto  you.  If  ye 
loved  me,  ye  would  rejoice,  because  I  said  I 
go  unto  my  Father ;  for  my  Father  is  greater 
than  I. 


OUR  ALL  IN  GOD. 


TJLESSED  is  the  man  who  lovethThee,  and 

-"    his  friend  in  Thee,   and  his   enemy  for 

Thee.     For  he  only  loses  none  dear  to  him,  to 

whom  all  are  dear  in  Him  who  cannot  be  lost. 

And  who  is  that  but  our  God,  the    God  that 

made  heaven  and  earth,  and  jilleth  them,  even 

by  filling  them  creating  them?     None  loseth, 

but  he  who  leaveth  Thee. 

St.  Augustine. 


GOD    DISPOSES. 


FROM   THE    GERMAN. 


O  TILLED  now  be  every  anxious  care  ; 
v~^    See  God's  great  goodness  everywhere  ; 
Leave  all  to  him  in  perfect  rest : 
He  will  do  all  things  for  the  best. 
From  grief  and  care  he  can  set  free  ; 
What  he  thinks  best,  that  best  must  be. 
For  God  disposes :  if  he  will, 
He  can  my  life  with  pleasure  fill. 


In  bitter  moans  if  I  complain, 
These  sad  complaints  are  all  in  vain ; 
For  more  and  more  my  sorrows  swell, 


24  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

As  loudly  of  my  griefs  I  tell. 

Rather  in  patience  will  I  hope, 

And  to  my  gracious  God  look  up, 

For  God  disposes,  gain  or  loss, 

And  joy  may  come  even  from  my  cross. 

Slowly  the  days  may  pass  away, 
And  time  my  wish  may  long  delay  ; 
But  yet  at  last  may  come  the  flower, 
And  then  the  fruit,  oh,  blessed  hour ! 
This  trust  shall  over  all  prevail, 
My  hope  in  God  shall  never  fail ; 
For  well  I  know  my  God  disposes : 
In  this  firm  hope  my  soul  reposes. 

I  from  my  soul  drive  every  care, 
I  give  my  God  a  dwelling  there  : 
That  always  shall  my  pleasure  be 
Which  he  imparts  to  comfort  me  ; 
For  if  to-day  remains  my  sorrow, 
It  may  be  turned  to  joy  to-morrow. 
God  disposes  ;  patient  bear  ; 
Joy  may  come  instead  of  care. 


THE   SORROW   OF   DEATH. 


/^\F  all  events  which  bear  the  character  of 
^^  irremediability,  the  death  of  those  who 
are  dear  to  us  is  undoubtedly  of  the  first  rank. 
To  see  borne  away  a  part  of  one's  self,  and  to 
survive  through  our  grief  those  affections  which 
made  our  glory,  our  strength,  our  joy,  our 
serenity,  and  perhaps  all  these  together,  —  is 
to  feel  one's  self  crushed,  impoverished,  and 
pierced  through  and  through.  Such  regrets, 
so  legitimate,  are  permitted,  as  it  is  a  part  of 
our  dignity  not  to  lose  them  ;  and  it  is,  at  the 
utmost,  only  against  their  excess  that  Chris- 


26  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

tianity  arms  us.  Only,  here  as  elsewhere, 
changing  our  point  of  view,  it  makes  us  pene- 
trate into  the  reality  of  our  affliction,  in  order 
to  render  it  conformable  to  its  divine  spirit,  and 
to  disengage  from  it  all  that  embitters  or  en- 
venoms it. 

Christianity  is  always  ready  to  sanction  in 
us,  a  consciousness  of  all  that  there  is  sharp, 
poignant,  and  cruel  in  our  afflictions.  It  is 
always  ready  to  recognize  how  a  blank  in  joys 
that  have  been  tasted  can  become  a  deep  abyss  ; 
how  the  disappearance  of  one  single  being  can 
make  a  desert  of  this  world ;  how  a  cruel 
privation  can  attach  to  each  moment  a  weight 
that  hangs  heavy  upon  us,  and  lacerates  us. 
But,  after  all  these  concessions,  it  asks  us, 
if  it  is  indeed  just  that  an  immortal  creature 
should  linger  over  one  sad  moment  in  space, 
in  order  to  extend  its  shadows  over  its  whole 
career.  It  asks  if  this  irremediability  of  death, 
incontestable  this  side  of  the  tomb,  holds  its 
power  beyond ;  if  faith  has  ever  spoken  to  us 
of  eternal  separation ;    if  the  friends  deplored 


The  Sorrow  of  Death. 


27 


are  indeed  lost,  rather  than  being  only  absent ; 
if,  finally,  being  able  to  hope  to  recover  them 
some  day,  we  ought  not  force  ourselves  to  put 
a  rein  upon  our  impatience,  hastening  by 
prayer  a  common  deliverance. 

Mad.  Swetchine. 


SUBSTITUTION. 


1T7HEN  some  beloved  voice,  that  was  to  you 

*  *      Both  sound  and  sweetness,  faileth  suddenly  ; 
And  silence,  against  which  you  dare  not  cry, 
Aches  round  you  like  a  strong  disease  and  near,  — 
What  hope  ?  what  help  ?  what  music  will  undo 
That  silence  to  your  sense?     Not  friendship's  sigh, 
Nor  reason's  subtle  count.     Not  melody 
Of  viols,  nor  of  pipes  that  Faunus  blew. 
Not  songs  of  poets,  nor  of  nightingales, 
Whose  hearts  leap  upwards  through  the  cypress- 
trees 
To  the  clear  moon !     Nor  yet  the  spheric  laws 
Self-chanted,  —  nor  the  angels'  sweet  all-hails, 
Met  in  the  smile  of  God.     Nay,  none  of  these. 
Speak  thou,  availing  Christ,  and  fill  this  pause. 


CONSOLATION. 


A   LL  are  not  taken  :  there  are  left  behind 
Living  beloveds,  tender  looks  to  bring, 
And  make  the  daylight  still  a  happy  thing ; 
And  tender  voices  to  make  soft  the  wind. 
But  if  it  were  not  so  ;  if  I  could  find 
No  love  in  all  the  world  for  comforting, 
Nor  any  path  but  hollowly  did  ring, 
Where  "  dust  to  dust"  the  love  from  life  disjoined  ; 
And  if,  before  those  sepulchres  unmoving, 
I  stood  alone  (as  some  forsaken  lamb 
Goes  bleating  up  the  moors  in  weary  dearth), 
Crying,  "  Where  are  ye,  O  my  loved  and  loving?  " 
I  know  a  voice  would  sound,  "  Daughter,  I  AM. 
Can  I  suffice  for  Heaven,  and  not  for  earth  ?  " 


E.  B.  Browning. 


BLESSED  ARE  THEY  THAT  MOURN;  FOR 
THEY  SHALL  BE  COMFORTED." 


f  1  ^HESE  words  come  with  a  certainty  of 
-*-  strength  and  consolation.  For  this,  we 
are  willing  to  believe  them,  and  hold  on  to 
them  even  in  our  darkest  moments ;  yes,  in 
the  very  depth  of  our  grief.  For  they  do  not 
say,  "Thou  art  comforted  now."  They  do 
not  say,  that,  with  the  shadow  of  desolation, 
there  comes  at  the  same  time  hope.  They 
do  not  impress  upon  us  a  duty,  that  we  are  to 
find  or  look  for  comfort  directly.  The  com- 
fort is  not  now.  The  blessing  comes  in  the 
sorrowing,  not  without  it;  the  comfort  shall 
come  afterwards.     If  we  did  not  feel  the  whole 


''•Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn."         31 

weight  of  the  desolation,  the  whole  depth  of 
the  sorrow,  if  there  were  in  us  no  true  mourn- 
ing, then  there  were  no  blessing. 

How  could  it  be  otherwise?  How  could  we 
ever  have  thanked  enough  for  the  gift,  if  we 
could  have  calmly  and  quietly  seen  it  taken 
away  ?  We  were  leaning  upon  a  strong  arm  : 
suddenly  it  is  snatched  away  from  us.  The 
voice  that  used  to  greet  us 'every  day,  cheer- 
fully, is  silent  all  at  once.  No  answer,  no 
word,  comes  back  to  us.  We  were  living  on 
day  after  day  happily,  finding  out  all  the  joys 
there  are  in  living,  when  suddenly  we  are 
brought  before  the  gateway  into  another  life. 
This  companion,  this  very  one  who  was  close 
by  our  side,  whose  hands  we  held,  whose  breath 
was  on  our  cheek,  has  gone,  —  has  disappeared 
behind  that  door  that  shuts  us  out  from  word  or 
touch  or  look.  We  are  left  alone  in  the  silence. 
Behind,  with  us,  remain  all  the  plans  we  two 
had  made  together  for  to-morrow,  for  next 
year,  —  together!  but  I  am  left  alone.  And 
what  is  that  life  upon  which  he  has  entered?  — 


32  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

of  which  I  can  know  nothing,  in  which  I  can 
take  no  share.  Alone?  Yes;  for  with  this 
separation  has  come  the  strange  lesson  of 
death,  that  teaches  us,  that,  however  closely  we 
may  be  bound  to  each  other,  there  comes  this 
breaking  of  ties  to  cut  us  off  one  from  the 
other ;  that  love  or  health  or  human  will  can- 
not hold  us  together  ;  that  there  is  one  road  we 
must  walk  alone.  Let  there  be  ever  so  many 
friends  to  come  with  kind  and  sympathizing 
words,  there  are  none  that  break  up  this  sense 
of  loneliness. 

Let  it  come  ;  let  it  bring  with  it  the  deepest 
feeling  of  sorrow.  Do  not  try  to  turn  away 
from  the  sensation  of  grief  as  though  it  could 
be  avoided.  It  will  come,  however  you  long 
to  hide  it  and  cover  it  up.  Look  it  in  the  face, 
and  find  out  how  great  the  sorrow  is.  Learn 
all  its  depths ;  taste  all  its  bitterness ;  and  do 
not  persuade  yourself  that  it  is  gladness  or  joy. 
This  is  the  moment  for  courage,  and  it  is  the 
time  when  courage  should  come,  if  ever;  for 
it  is  the  hour  of  struggle. 


"Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn"         2iZ 

God  is  very  good,  indeed.  Sometimes  we 
are  so  stunned  by  the  blow  we  have  received, 
we  do  not  know  how  great  is  its  evil ;  and  then 
gradually  we  come  to  the  strength  to  bear  it. 
But  even  when  we  cannot  see  all  the  details  of 
our  grief,  when  we  are  so  overwhelmed  with 
sorrow  that  we  cannot  look  beyond,  it  is  the 
very  heartiness  of  our  grief  that  will  help  us- 
Then  we  shall  have  sounded  all  the  depths  of 
loneliness  and  desolation  ;  and,  staggering  and 
uncertain,  we  shall  learn  that  we  have  found 
God. 

He  must  be  near  us  then,  when  we  cry  out 
in  the  agony  of  our  sorrow. 

If  we  had  turned  away  from  our  mourning, 
if  we  had  looked  out  for  shallow  and  super- 
ficial consolations,  we  would  not  have  seen 
Him.  We  might,  perhaps,  have  filled  up  the 
empty  spaces  around  us  with  something  that 
for  a  while  would  have  made  us  feel  less 
lonely ;  but  we  should  have  gone  away  from 
Him.  The  blessing  was  with  us  when  we 
mourned. 

3 


34  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

But  is  not  such  grief  selfish  ?  Are  there  not 
our  duties  to  others,  and  our  gratitude  for  all 
the  blessings  we  have  beside?  And  should  we 
forget  all  these  in  our  sorrow? 

The  truth  is,  that  such  sudden  separations 
as  those  made  by  death  —  for  these  are  always 
sudden  —  must  bring  us  all  back  to  self.  They 
wake  up  self-consciousness :  they  make  a 
silent  space  for  a  little  while  around  our  hearts 
to  give  us  time  to  inquire  about  ourselves.  If 
we  do  not  stop  to  question  ourselves,  to  ask 
what  kind  of  life  this  is  in  which  we  are  still 
left,  and  how  we  mean  to  manage  with  it ;  if 
we  do  not  stop  to  think  what  has  become  of 
that  spirit  that  has  left  behind  these  cold  tools 
with  which  it  worked  on  earth,  these  hands 
that  labored  in  love,  this  brain  that  thinks  no 
longer,  these  eyes  that  will  not  open  again  to 
gladden  us  like  sunshine,  and  these  lips  that 
are  never  to  speak  more ;  ah  !  if  we  do  not 
stop  to  wonder  about  that  new  life,  and  to 
mourn  bitterly,  bitterly  for  the  life  that  has 
closed,  —  then  it  will  be  very  hopeless  for  this 


"Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn"        35 

poor  self  of  ours,  and  we  shall  need  again  and 
again  death  and  parting  and  agony  to  wake 
us  up  to  the  thought  of  self;  and  the  mourning 
cannot  be  blessed. 

In  such  grief  there  is  little  danger  of  stagna- 
tion or  selfishness.  The  duties  of  life  come 
up,  and  hold  out  their  hands  as  comforters  ;  and 
thankfulness  for  the  friends  we  have,  and  for 
their  sympathy,  stands  by  the  side  of  the  deep 
sorrow.  The  blacker  its  shadow,  the  brighter 
is  the  sunshine  all  around. 

"They  shall  be  comforted."  Those  words 
have  a  certainty  in  them  that  resounds  in  our 
hearts.  They  shall  be  comforted  ;  not  yet,  not  . 
now;  we  may  mourn  on  still,  indeed  we  must, 
and  learn  the  meaning  of  sorrow,  but  we 
shall  be  comforted.  Not  with  the  shallow  com- 
fort that  time  will  make  us  forget  our  grief. 
No ;  happily,  our  sorrow  is  too  great  to  be  for- 
gotten. It  will  stay  with  us ;  we  will  never 
give  it  up.  It  will  take  hold  of  our  hearts.  It 
is  this  sorrow  that  has  planted  God  there,  that 
has  made  us  venture  to  call  ourselves  "followers 


2,6  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

of  Christ."  It  is  this  that  has  ennobled  our  life 
here,  and  has  made  it  worth  while  to  live.  It 
is  this  that  has  set  us  to  thinking  about  another 
world,  and  has  made  us  dare  to  think  of 
immortality. 

Because  we  could  not  believe  that  we  had 
laid  beneath  the  ground  all  of  that  dear  friend 
who  was  something  more  to  us  than  voice  or 
form,  or  sweet  face  to  look  upon;  because  we 
learned  the  bitterness  of  parting, — we  were 
forced  to  believe  in  immortality.  It  is  death 
that  has  taken  us  into  the  presence  of  God.  It 
was  strange  indeed,  that  we  must  wait  for  that. 
It  was  strange  that  we  did  not  find  Him  every 
day,  in  happy,  laughing  hours,  in  sunny 
gleams  in  woods,  or  by  the  sea  !  No,  we  were 
in  too  great  a  hurry  then ;  we  could  not  stop 
for  so  great  a  thought.  We  could  not  stop 
till  He  stopped  us  by  the  side  of  this  cold,  un- 
moving  form  ;  by  the  silence ;  by  the  agony  of 
the  waking  of  the  morrow ;  by  the  mourning 
for  the  dear  child,  —  the  little  child  that  stayed 
but  a  few  days  ;    the   helpful  sister,  mother, 


"Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn."        37 

father,  friend,  brother,  that  made  our  lives  for 
us,  and  who  now  are  making  for  us  that  other 
life. 

Only  by  our  mourning  can  we  find  out  this. 
Let  us  not  stay  our  tears,  nor  check  our  sor- 
row. It  will  be  worst  of  all,  if  we  cannot  learn 
to  feel  it. 


THE  VISION. 


r  I  ^HESE  are  they  that  came  out  of  great 
-*-  tribulation,  and  have  washed  their  robes 
and  made  them  white  in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb. 
Therefore  are  they  before  the  throne  of  God, 
and  serve  Him  day  and  night  in  his  temple ; 
and  He  that  sitteth  on  the  throne  shall  dwell 
among  them. 

They  shall  hunger  no  more,  neither  thirst 
any  more ;  neither  shall  the  sun  light  on  them, 
nor  any  heat.  For  the  Lamb  which  is  in  the 
midst  of  the  throne  shall  feed  them,  and  shall 
lead  them  unto  living  fountains  of  water ;  and 
God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes. 


The    Vision.  39 


Blessed  are  the  poor  in  spirit ;  for  theirs  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.  Blessed  are  they 
that  mourn ;  for  they  shall  be  comforted. 
Blessed  are  the  meek ;  for  they  shall  inherit 
the  earth.  Blessed  are  they  which  do  hunger 
and  thirst  after  righteousness  ;  for  they  shall  be 
filled.  Blessed  are  the  merciful ;  for  they  shall 
obtain  mercy.  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart ; 
for  they  shall  see  God.  Blessed  are  the  peace- 
makers ;  for  they  shall  be  called  the  children 
of  God.  Blessed  are  they  which  are  perse- 
cuted for  righteousness'  sake ;  for  theirs  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven. 

As  ye  are  partakers  of  the  suffering,  so  shall 
ye  also  be  of  the  consolation. 

Behold,  we  count  them  happy  which  en- 
dure. 


PRAYER   OF  ARCHBISHOP  LAUD'S. 


f  I  ^HAT  which  I  cannot  foresee,  I  beseech 
-*■  thee  prevent ;  that  which  I  cannot  with- 
stand, I  beseech  thee  master ;  that  which  I  do 
not  fear,  I  beseech  thee  unmask  and  prostrate, 
—  that,  being  delivered  from  all  danger,  both 
of  soul  and  body,  I  may  praise  thee,  the  De- 
liverer, and  see  how  happy  a  thing  it  is  to 
make  the  Lord  of  hosts  my  helper  in  the  day  of 
trouble,  as  well  as  in  the  day  of  joy. 


Undoubtedly  the  Christian  suffers  :  he  suf- 
fers deeply,  because  it  is  a  dignity  to  suffer ; 
and  he  would  possess  all  dignities.  Still  more, 
he  suffers  always ;  for  God,  who  has  created 
the  consolation,  has  not  created  forgetfulness. 

Mad.  Swetchine. 


HOW  SHALL  I  TAKE  SORROW? 


MANY  times  have  you  heard  of  the  fruit- 
ful blessings  of  sorrow.  But  is  it  such 
a  blessing,  when  one  storm  gathers  after 
another  above  us,  and  we  remain  always  the 
same?  Heaven  help  us,  when  every  hot  hour 
of  suffering  serves  only  to  inflame  the  evil  de- 
sires in  the  heart !  How,  then,  can  such  evil 
desires  ever  be  removed  from  us?  Sorrows, 
indeed,  are  the  fruit-bearing  inundations  of  the 
Nile  ;  but,  friends,  they  are  not  so,  if  they  pass 
over  rocky  ground.  Sorrow  is  indeed  the 
storm-wind  beneath  whose  blast  the  sparks  of 


42  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

the  love  of  God  must  be  blown  into  a  flame ; 
but,  friends,  the  spark  must  first  be  there  in 
order  that  the  flame  may  follow.  It  is  heart- 
rending to  see  sorrow  discharge  itself  upon  sor- 
row over  many  men ;  and  they  lie  unmoved. 
Like  the  stones  in  the  street,  they  are  trodden 
under  foot;  it  rains,  the  sun  shines  again,  and 
they  remain  still  what  they  are,  —  stones. 

When  the  hour  of  sorrow  comes,  if  there  is 
not  already  in  the  heart  something  of  a  holy 
drawing  towards  God,  then  awakens  defiance 
instead  of  humility,  blasphemy  in  the  place  of 
prayer.  "  If  thou  wilt  not  as  I  will,"  cries  the 
perverse  man,  "then  I  will  not  as  thou  wilt," 
and  gives  God  the  go-by  in  his  soul.  Only 
where  the  love  of  God  dwells  in  the  soul,  even 
without  a  clear  consciousness  of  it,  can  sorrow 
lead  to  God.  Have  you  seen  the  flowers  that, 
in  a  close  cellar,  turn  their  heads  towards  the 
side  where  the  sun  appears  ?  so  the  heart  of 
man  in  the  night  of  sorrow,  when  there  is  a 
trace  of  God  living  within.  Through  all  the 
night  of  bitterness,  it   seeks    for   the    crevice 


How  shall  I  take  Sorrow  f  43 

through  which  the  eternal  light  shall  fall  into 
the  darkness  ;  and  seeks  and  drinks,  and  grows 
even  more  thirsty.  Only  in  such  hearts,  in  the 
silent  night  of  sorrow,  does  prayer  begin  to 
tone  forth ;  only  in  such  hearts  is  that  prayer 
reached  which  pours  itself  out,  as  the  apostle 
says,  in  groanings  that  cannot  be  uttered. 

Tholuck. 

The  old  Book  says,  "The  Lord  gave,  and 
the  Lord  hath  taken  away."  I  would  mend  it 
by  saying,  The  Lord  giveth,  giveth,  giveth. 
He  takes  away  a  form,  He  gives  a  spirit;  He 
takes  away  the  presence,  and  gives  a  memory 
and  a  hope ;  He  takes  away  a  friend,  and 
gives  an  angel ;  He  takes  away  the  support 
of  an  earthly  home,  and  gives  the  pledge  of  a 
heavenly  one  beyond  it ;  He  takes  away  the 
objects  of  time,  and  gives  eternity;  He  takes 
away  the  uses  of  the  material  and  of  the  fleshly, 
and  gives  the  great  hereafter  of  blessed  life ; 
He  takes  away  one  who  walks  by  our  side,  He 
gives  us  a  spirit  that  is  with  us  here,  every-, 


44  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

where  and  every  day,  that  never  leaves  the 
door,  that  is  always  sitting  in  the  chair,  that  is 
always  filling  the  chamber,  that  is  always  be- 
stowing gifts.  The  Lord  takes  away  the  dust, 
the  form,  the  touch,  the  embrace  ;  and  gives  to 
us  the  whole  human  nature,  a  fresh  revelation 
of  power  and  truth  and  greatness  and  good- 
ness, that  was  concealed  from  us  by  this  fine 
transparency  of  the  flesh.  God  gives  us  Death, 
the  great  revealer,  the  great  restorer,  the  true 
and  beautiful  friend  who  tells  us  what  our 
friends  were,  and  how  dear  they  were ;  and 
awakes  in  our  hearts  that  dear,  deep  longing 
which  is  the  earnest  of  the  immortal  life. 

Nothing  that  has  truly  lived  perishes  :  there 
is  no  death  to  truth,  to  wisdom,  to  aspira- 
tion. There  is  no  decay  to  love.  It  may  take 
a  hundred  forms,  but  it  will  preserve  a  strong 
consistency ;  and  the  root  that  is  planted  here 
in  the  earth  will  grow  and  grow  until  it  puts  on 
immortality.  It  may  ripen  here,  but  it  will 
flower  in  the  great  world  that  is  to  come.  Let 
us  not  think  that  God  dies  when  our  friend 


How  shall  I  take  Sorrow  f  45 

dies,  or  that  the  hand  of  Providence  is  closed 
when  our  friend's  hand  drops.  Dear  friends, 
let  us  not  be  so  short-sighted  and  foolish  as  to 
imagine,  that,  outside  the  horizon  that  bounds 
our  eyesight,  there  is  no  eternal  law,  no  infinite 
spirit,  no  endless  love,  no  perfect  goodness,  no 
never-ceasing  thought.  Out  of  that  hand  of 
God  we  can  never  drop  ;  if  our  bark  sink,  'tis 
to  another  sea,  and  that  sea  is  the  ocean  of 
divine  immortality.  Let  us,  O  friends  !  with 
manly  heart,  with  cheerfulness,  with  joy  and 
triumph,  stand  by  the  remains  of  our  dearly 
beloved  brother.  If  he  was  brave,  let  us  be 
brave  ;  if  he  was  true,  let  us  try  to  strengthen 
ourselves ;  if  he  has  helped  us,  let  us  return 
the  grace  by  helping  our  brother  as  he  helped 
us  ;  and  may  the  spirit  that  went  with  him  to 
the  end  go  also  to  the  end  with  us,  that  we, 
too,  may  meet  the  inevitable  hour,  and  say  that 
it  is  blessed. 

Rev.  O.  B.  Frothingham. 


CLEANSING   FIRES. 


ET  thy  gold  be  cast  in  the  furnace, 
■*— <       Thy  red  gold,  precious  and  bright ; 
Do  not  fear  the  hungry  fire, 

With  its  caverns  of  burning  light,  — 
And  thy  gold  shall  return  more  precious, 

Free  from  every  spot  and  stain ; 
For  gold  must  be  tried  by  fire, 

As  a  heart  must  be  tried  by  pain. 


In  the  cruel  fire  of  sorrow, 

Cast  thy  heart ;  do  not  faint  or  wail ; 
Let  thy  hand  be  firm  and  steady, 

Do  not  let  thy  spirit  quail : 
But  wait  when  the  trial  is  over, 

And  take  thy  heart  again  ; 
For  as  gold  is  tried  by  fire, 

So  a  heart  must  be  tried  by  pain . 


Cleansing  Fires, 


47 


I  shall  know  by  the  gleam  and  glitter 

Of  the  golden  chain  you  wear, 
By  your  heart's  calm  strength  in  loving, 

Of  the  fire  they  have  had  to  bear. 
Beat  on,  true  heart,  for  ever ; 

Shine  bright,  strong  golden  chain  ; 
And  bless  the  cleansing  fire, 

And  the  furnace  of  living  pain. 

A.  A.  Proctor. 


SORROW. 

SERMON,     BY    T.     COLAN 
(Translated  from  the  French.) 


"  My  brethren,  count  it  all  joy  when  ye  fall  into  divers 
temptations ;  knowing  this,  that  the  trying  of  your  faith 
worketh  patience.  But  let  patience  have  her  perfect  work, 
that  ye  may  be  perfect  and  entire,  wanting  nothing."  — 
James  i.  2-4. 

r  I  ^HE  highest  happiness,  pure  as  a  cloudless 
A  sky,  calm  as  a  sea,  undisturbed  by  a 
single  breath  of  wind,  — a  perfect  happiness  is 
a  thing  so  rare  among  human  beings,  that 
Pagan  antiquity  looked  upon  it  as  a  subject  of 
terror,  and  turned  away  with  horror  from  the 
wretch  who  was  laden  with  such  felicity.     For 


Sorrow.  49 


the  gods,  doubtless,  elevated  him  above  the 
earth  only  to  precipitate  him  from  a  higher 
point,  in  their  anger.  And,  in  truth,  this  per- 
fect happiness,  if  it  has  ever  existed  elsewhere 
than  in  fable,  was  an  anomaly,  a  sort  of  mon- 
strosity. No  day  dawns  without  bringing  to 
us  its  portion  of  uneasiness,  of  grief,  of  suffer- 
ing. You  can  class  all  the  persons  of  your 
acquaintance  in  one  of  these  three  categories  : 
many  do  not  have  what  they  desire,  —  fortune, 
honors,  health,  a  position,  a  family ;  others 
have  the  good  that  they  wish,  but  something 
prevents  them  from  enjoying  it  completely  and 
tranquilly,  and  this  is  generally  a  fear  of  losing 
it,  or  the  ennui  which  accompanies  its  posses- 
sion ;  others,  finally,  have  no  longer  that 
blessing  which  made  the  charm  of  their  lives, 
and  which  now,  to  their  torment,  they  imagine 
was  without  alloy.  You  frequently  hear  said, 
"A  year  ago,  ten  years  ago,  before  this  terri- 
ble blow,  I  was  entirely  content  with  my  lot;" 
or  else,  "When  I  shall  have  made  my  fortune, 
when  I  shall  have  a  home,  when  I  shall  have 
4 


5<D  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

established  my  children,  I  shall  have  happier 
days."  But  do  you  ever  hear,  "Now,  in  this 
position,  nothing  is  wanting  to  my  wishes"? 
Men  speak  much  of  their  past  happiness,  much 
of  their  happiness  to  come,  little  or  not  at  all 
of  their  present  happiness.  It  is  because  hap- 
piness—  that,  at  least,  that  we  seek  outside  of 
ourselves,  or  a  fortunate  conjunction  of  circum- 
stances—  is,  with  few  exceptions,  a  dream. 
Reality  presents  us  quite  a  different  thing, — 
pleasures,  doubtless,  but  mingled  with  distaste  ; 
joy,  but  sadness  also ;  enjoyments,  but  trials 
too ;  tribulations,  tears,  mourning :  our  daily 
bread  is,  as  it  were,  salted  with  bitterness.  As 
long  as  your  earthly  pilgrimage  will  last,  the 
pale  phantom  of  sorrow  will  walk  silent  at  your 
side,  filling  you  with  an  indefinable  fear  by  its 
presence,  even  when  it  will  no  longer  chain 
you  with  its  icy  hand.  You  can  no  more  get 
rid  of  it  than  you  can  get  rid  of  yourself. 

Thus  the  gospel  does  not  pretend  to  sup- 
press sorrow.  It  understands  humanity  too 
well  to  repeat  the  mad  utterance  of  a  haughty 


Sorrow,  5 1 


philosophy,  "Pain,  thou  art  only  a  name." 
Pain,  according  to  the  gospel,  is  much  more 
than  a  name,  —  the  most  real  of  realities. 
When  St.  Paul  shows  us  how  God  will  subject 
all  things  to  the  Son,  he  says  that  the  last 
thing  that  will  resist  this  transformation  of  the 
universe  will  be  death,  the  king  of  terror,  the 
personification  of  sorrow.  This  will  last 
longer  than  all  the  rest.  Christianity,  then, 
acknowledges  seriously  the  bitter  things  of 
life.  Yet  it  gives  them  a  new  and  divine  sig- 
nificance, so  that,  while  feeling  them  vividly, 
we  can  accept  them  with  gratitude,  and  rejoice 
as  in  an  excellent  gift.  The  warrior,  who  sees 
his  blood  flow  in  battle,  suffers  as  much  as  the 
daily  laborer  who  wounds  himself,  a  victim  to 
his  own  carelessness  :  on  either  side  the  physi- 
cal ill  is  the  same ;  but  the  consciousness  of  a 
duty  nobly  accomplished,  and  the  hope  of 
a  glorious  recompense,  give  the  soldier  the 
sweetest  of  satisfactions.  This  gaping  wound, 
in  his  eyes,  is  something  different  from  that  of 
mere  tortured  fibres  :   it  has  a  meaning ;    it  is 


52  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

the  token  of  valor.  Thus,  all  is  not  necessa- 
rily painful  in  sorrow ;  and  this  is  what  allows 
St.  James  to  begin  his  sententious  Epistle  with 
the  lines  I  have  read  you.  He  has  just  ad- 
dressed his  readers :  "James  to  the  twelve 
tribes  which  are  scattered  abroad,  greeting." 
In  the  Greek,  this  last  word  signifies  properly 
"joy."  But  in  what  shall  they  rejoice,  these 
despised  beings  whom  the  world  loads  with  a 
double  opprobrium,  because  they  are  Jews  by 
origin,  and  because  they  are  of  the  sect  of  the 
crucified?  Is  there  not  an  irony  in  accosting 
them  with  a  salutation  so  gay  and  worldly  at 
once  as  this  phrase,  "joy"?  Yes,  joy.  "Count 
it  all  joy  when  ye  fall  into  divers  temptations." 
And  he  explains  himself:  it  is  by  these  tribu- 
lations they  will  become  "perfect  and  entire." 
Now  he  who  wishes  the  end  wishes  the  means. 
Whoever  desires  to  lift  himself  to  the  full 
stature  of  man  must  then  submit  himself  will- 
ingly to  the  yoke  of  suffering.  Brethren,  let 
us  consider  this  admirable  saying,  and  learn 
from  James  how  tribulation  is  necessary  for  our 


Sorrow.  53 

spiritual  education,  and  how  we  can  make  it 
turn  to  our  advantage. 

"Trial,"  says  our  text,  "produces  patience," 
renunciation,  sacrifice ;  trial  detaches  us  from 
the  earth,  and  this  is  the  first  step  towards 
eternal  life. 

Man,  you  know,  is  placed  on  the  confines  of 
two  worlds  ;  the  world  of  sense,  and  the  world 
of  spirit.  At  first,  at  the  moment  of  birth,  the 
physical  life  is  all-powerful,  leaving  no  place 
for  the  moral  life,  which  seems  as  yet  scarcely 
a  germ.  But  this  germ  is  to  develop  itself  by 
degrees,  to  render  itself  independent  of  the 
physical  life,  and  to  end  even  by  absorbing  it, 
transforming  it,  and  reducing  it  to  its  own  ser- 
vice. Ah  !  well,  brethren,  without  the  suffering 
of  the  body,  never  would  the  spirit  become 
free  of  its  fetters,  never  should  we  go  beyond 
the  animal  instincts.  This  is  humiliating  to 
say,  but  it  is  true ;  for  we  are  much  greater 
sensualists  than  we  dare  to  avow,  and  mate- 
rial pleasures  have  inconceivable  attractions 
for  us.     Say,  conscientiously,  do  you  feel  your- 


54  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

self  strong  enough  to  be  sure,  that  a  continued 
satisfaction  of  the  body  would  not  swallow  up 
your  soul  in  a  mortal  sleep?  Do  you  feel 
strong  enough  to  do  without  sickness,  and  those 
innumerable  little  discomforts  which  sting  us 
incessantly,  without  precisely  making  us  suf- 
fer? For  myself,  brethren,  I  should  not  be 
willing  that  all  this  should  be  taken  from  me 
at  any  price.  I  know  it  too  well,  hardly  should 
I  be  freed  from  it  than  matter  would  take  an 
irresistible,  perhaps  a  limitless,  ascendency 
over  me.  It  is,  then,  fortunate  that  God  has 
placed  distaste  by  the  side  of  pleasure,  so  that 
the  one  engenders  the  other  infallibly,  each 
giving  a  counterpoise  to  the  other.  It  is  happy, 
too,  that  God  has  distributed  to  the  human 
race,  and  especially  to  civilized  nations,  a  cer- 
tain quantity  of  evils  which  force  us  to  seek 
our  happiness  higher  than  in  the  physical  life. 
Yes,  the  suffering  of  the  body  is  good,  — very 
good.  When  it  is  feeble,  it  shakes  our  mate- 
rialism ;  when  it  is  strong,  it  overthrows  it, 
whether  we  will  or  no.     The  sick  man  bound 


Sorrow.  55 


to  his  couch  by  weakness,  tortured  by  fever, 
broken  down  by  sleeplessness,  is  indeed  obliged 
to  renounce  pleasure,  and  to  resign  himself  to 
live  another  life  than  that  of  the  senses. 

The  body  is  not,  besides,  the  sole  power 
with  which  God  disputes  for  our  soul,  and 
against  which  he  employs  suffering  as  a  power- 
ful dissolvent.  We  form  a  portion  of  society, 
and  we  play  there  a  varied  part ;  nothing  more 
legitimate,  since  God  has  so  ordered  it.  Only, 
our  reputation,  our  influence,  our  fortune,  ought 
to  be  no  more  than  means,  —  means  for  doing 
good ;  and,  too  often,  we  make  of  them  the 
end,  the  sole  end,  of  our  efforts.  This  is  why 
God  strikes  us  in  our  reputation,  our  influence, 
our  fortune,  in  order  to  detach  us  from  them 
violently.  It  is  permitted  us  to  seek  for  ease, 
to  enjoy  an  honorable  fortune,  but  on  the  ex- 
press condition,  that  we  make  use  of  this  gold 
as  an  instrument  for  the  relief  of  our  brethren. 
As  soon  as  we  amass  it  for  the  purpose  of 
heaping  it  up,  in  order  to  count  it,  to  touch  it, 
or  even  with  the  intention  of  creating  for  our- 


56  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

selves  a  life  without  care  or  without  duty*  an 
epicurean  retreat, — we  glide  over  the  fatal  pre- 
cipice of  egotism.  And,  if  God  has  pity  upon 
us,  he  will  hasten  to  chastise  us,  to  render  our 
speculations  vain.  He  will  suspend  our  busi- 
ness affairs,  will  let  our  factories  stand  idle, 
destroy  our  harvests ;  in  a  word,  ruin  our  for- 
tune, in  order  to  save  our  souls.  So  it  is  by 
an  effort  of  his  grace  that  he  deigns  to  anni- 
hilate our  influence  in  the  world,  when  we 
abuse  it.  You  desire  to  occupy  a  certain  place 
as  administrator,  judge,  or  professor  ;  and  you 
might  do  there  much  good,  effectively.  You 
wish  that  the  crowd  would  adopt  your  political 
sentiments  or  your  religious  opinions,  and  I 
can  believe  they  might  have  reason  to  felicitate 
themselves.  But  look  at  the  bottom  of  your 
heart,  and  see,  if  self,  with  its  pride  and 
cupidity,  counts  for  nothing  in  this  ambition. 
In  this  case,  the  most  truly  fortunate  thing  that 
could  happen  to  you  would  be  for  you  to  strike 
against  the  breakers,  and  to  see  all  your  hopes 
there  dashed  to  pieces.     I  would  say  the  same 


Sorrow.  57 


of  our  reputation.  We  are  certainly  right  in 
clinging  to  the  esteem  of  our  fellow-men,  since 
this  esteem  is  like  the  perfume  that  gives 
price  to  social  life.  But  let  us  take  care  that 
we  do  not  sacrifice  our  dignity  to  the  desire  of 
shining,  our  convictions  to  a  wish  to  please, 
our  conscience  to  vanity.  It  would  then  be  a 
thousand'  times  better  to  submit  to  the  keenest 
humiliations,  and  receive  affronts,  that,  pene- 
trating to  the  roots  of  our  self-love,  might 
perhaps  extirpate  it.  Doubtless  it  is  sad  to  be 
poor,  it  is  sad  to  be  conquered,  it  is  sad  to 
be  disgraced.  We  tremble  at  contact  with  these 
evils,  as  the  body  shudders  and  shrinks  beneath 
the  cold  knife  of  the  operator ;  and  yet  I  hesi- 
tate not  to  affirm,  that  poverty  or  defeat  or 
shame  is  from  time  to  time  indispensable  to 
repress  our  worldly  spirit. 

But  to  suffer  bodily,  or  in  our  social  rela- 
tions, does  not  suffice.  There  is  a  point  in 
our  being  to  which  the  chain  that  draws  us 
towards  evil  is  yet  more  firmly  riveted ;  a 
point,  in  consequence,  upon  which  God  must 


58  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

bring  to  bear  a  suffering  more  concentrated : 
this  spot  is  the  heart. 

It  is  often  repeated,  that  the  Eternal  Being 
forbids  us  to  love  too  much  those  who  are  dear 
to  us,  and  that,  if  he  strikes  us  through  our 
affections,  it  is  in  order  to  diminish  them.  This 
view,  I  must  say,  seems  to  me  little  in  harmony 
with  the  laws  of  the  kingdom  of  God.  It  is 
not  forbidden  us  to  love  too  much,  to  devote 
ourselves,  to  sacrifice  and  forget  ourselves  too 
much  (this  last  need  scarcely  be  urged)  ;  but 
it  is  forbidden  to  love  ourselves  in  others,  to 
seek  in  the  affections  our  own  satisfaction 
alone,  —  and  no  fault  is  more  frequent.  How 
many  fathers  and  mothers  there  are  who 
cherish  their  children,  and  consecrate  to  their 
education  large  sums  of  money ;  who  inces- 
santly occupy  themselves  with  them  ;  and  who, 
under  this  appearance  of  love,  hide  a  gross 
selfishness,  since  they  wish  not  to  render  their 
children  happy,  but  to  be  happy  themselves  in 
their  children !  How  many  married  people 
there  are  who   love   passionately  husband  or 


Sorrow.  59 


wife,  on  condition  of  their  bending  to  every 
caprice,  of  abdicating  all  personality  in  order 
to  be  moulded  in  their  own  stamp,  to  become 
in  their  lives  a  mere  piece  of  furniture  !  But 
let  us  leave  such  affection,  falsely  so  called, 
and  let  us  penetrate  more  deeply  into  the  heart. 
Does  it  never  happen  that  we  love  in  our  friend 
just  his  faults?  A  little  coquetry,  a  little 
malice,  a  little  anger,  sets  off  a  character  admi- 
rably, and  gives  it  a  certain  piquancy.  This 
amuses  us.  And  in  how  many  other  such 
cases  do  we  not  place  our  own  passing  pleas- 
ure above  our  friend's  true  happiness  !  Such  a 
meanness  do  all  those  commit,  who,  dreading 
to  trouble  the  charm  of  tender  effusions,  allow 
their  children,  husband,  wife,  or  friend  to  go 
straight  towards  evil,  without  ever  warning 
them  :  it  matters  little  that  one  good  quality 
after  another  is  lost,  provided  the  friend  is 
there,  proving  by  his  presence  the  charm  of  a 
fresh  emotion. 

This  selfishness,  to  which  we  give  ourselves 
with  a  sort  of  abandonment,  as  though  it  were 


60  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

a  virtue,  can  be  combated  only  by  a  very  bitter 
suffering  ;  and  thanks  be  rendered  to  God,  that 
He  does  not  spare  it  us.  Who  will  enumerate 
the  sufferings  of  the  heart?  Three  thousand 
years,  poets  have  not  ceased  to  labor  in  this 
field,  and  every  day  they  make  a  new  discov- 
ery there.  We  love,  and  are  not  loved  ;  and 
we  suffer.  We  love,  and  are  loved,  and  still 
we  suffer ;  for  we  are  separated  by  the  abyss 
of  space,  or  the  still  more  deep  abyss  that  cir- 
cumstances plough  up  for  us.  Or  else,  in  the 
midst  of  the  deepest  emotions,  a  poignant  sur- 
prise is  suddenly  awakened ;  we  just  discover 
that  the  union  of  souls  contains  ever  something 
incomplete  and  terrestrial :  perhaps  even  in 
the  folds  of  that  heart  that  was  believed  to  be 
nobleness  and  devotion  itself,  there  is  found 
some  hideous  defect.  Shall  I  paint  to  you 
what  we  feel,  when,  leaning  over  the  being 
whose  life  made  our  only  joy,  we  see  the 
pale,  thin  face  grow  yet  more  pale,  and  the 
eyes  —  those  eyes  that  brought  a  ray  from 
the  soul — languish,  dull  and  fixed?   What  can 


Sorrow.  61 


we  do  then  ?  We  moan  like  the  lioness  who 
defends  her  cub.  We  plead  against  the  strong 
God.  We  argue  with  him  that  He  is  deceived  ; 
that  it  is  not  us  whom  He  should  smite  ;  that  He 
has  not  the  right ;  that,  if  He  wishes  to  chastise 
us,  it  is  not  this  cherished  being  whom  He 
should  snatch  from  us.  We  supplicate  him  to 
ravish  fortune,  health,  honors ;  but  that  He 
should  leave  us  this  life,  that  He  should  suspend 
his  sentence,  that  He  should  wait  at  least  a 
few  moments.  The  prayers  are  vain.  God 
goes  straight  to  the  end,  and,  with  one  blow, 
crops  down  our  felicity.  Now,  detachment, 
renunciation,  is  easy  :  there  is  nothing  to  detach 
ourselves  from,  nothing  more  to  renounce. 
Terrible  God  !  where  we  found  a  world  of  joy, 
thou  hast  placed  nothingness.  Ask  not,  if  we 
submit:  hast  thou  left  us  the  choice?  Thou 
hast  crushed  us.  Yes,  thy  arguments  are 
without  reply.  Yes,  we  confess  that  our  hearts 
needed  to  be  torn,  since  thou  hast  willed  it. 

Patience,  detachment  from  the  world,  is  not 
yet  the  divine  life,  but  only  the  soil  in  which 


62  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

this  life  ought  to  put  forth.  "That  ye  may  be 
perfect,"  says  St.  James,  "let  patience  have 
her  perfect  work." 

Avoid,  my  brethren,  the  dejection  into 
which  so  many  souls  plunge :  you  would  risk 
there  all  profit  from  your  trials.  They  who 
fall  there  remain  sad,  dejected,  without  vigor 
or  energy ;  refining  upon  their  sadness,  find- 
ing a  bitter  pleasure  in  renewing,  through  the 
imagination,  the  sense  of  the  blow  with  which 
they  have  been  struck.  Believe  me,  this  tor- 
por is  fatal.  At  any  price,  gather  up  your 
strength :  your  suffering  would  become  a  sort 
of  habit,  that  is  to  say,  it  would  cease  to  be 
serious ;  and  (what  now  strikes  you  with  hor- 
ror) you  would  end  by  affecting  sorrow. 

Besides,  why  should  you  be  overwhelmed, 
all  you  who  pass  through  tribulation  ? 

Are  you  an  invalid,  and  are  a  thousand  joys 
wanting  to  you  ?  But  the  joys  of  the  soul  are 
not  interdicted  you.  In  limiting  you  with  re- 
gard to  the  body,  God  has  wished  to  crowd  you 
back,  as  it  were,  to  the  regions  of  the  spirit : 


Sorrow.  63 


follow  this  current  that  leads  towards  him, 
and  soon  you  will  perceive  that  God  can  make 
himself  felt  in  our  hearts  in  a  manner  as  posi- 
tively as  material  objects  place  themselves 
before  our  eyes.  The  activity  that  others 
direct  towards  outward  things,  you  will  turn 
within  :  now,  as  a  Father  of  the  Church  has 
said,  the  interior  things  are  also  the  superior. 
You  will  experience  this ;  you  will  acquire  a 
delicacy  of  feeling  of  which  humanity  seems 
hardly  capable ;  you  will  feel  pleasures,  by 
the  side  of  which  sensual  enjoyments  will 
appear  not  only  gross,  but  dull  and  cold.  It 
has  frequently  been  observed,  that  those  who 
suffer  from  long  and  cruel  disease  (all  other 
sufferings  end  by  deadening  themselves)  reach 
a  singular  development ;  that  piety  unfolds  in 
them  into  an  exquisite  flower;  that  perhaps 
they  alone,  here  below,  have  a  foretaste  of 
the  life  to  come ;  and,  too,  they  alone  present 
an  image  of  the  man  of  Gethsemane.  Is  not 
such  a  fate  glorious?  and  is  it  paid  for  too 
dearly  with  the  price  of  a  few  torturing  pains? 


6\  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

But,  to  reach  this,  it  is  not  enough  to  submit  to 
suffering,  —  sombre  and  passive  ;  it  is  neces- 
sary to  aid  it  at  work  in  our  soul,  tearing  from 
before  it  every  root  of  evil.  Oh,  you  who  are 
smitten  in  your  body,  apply  yourselves  to  this 
inner  work  !  If  God  has  not  given  this  su- 
preme benediction,  if  perhaps  sufferings  too 
intolerable  allow  you  neither  to  imagine  nor  to 
feel  any  joy  whatever,  He  will,  at  least,  sus- 
tain you  enough  that  your  patience  may  inces- 
santly renew  itself,  being  always  living,  always 
true. 

And  you  who  are  touched  in  your  fortune, 
your  influence,  your  reputation,  ill  success 
appears  to  be  your  portion,  and  all  that  there 
is  discouraging  in  the  world, — that  rock  of 
Sisyphus  that  is  eternally  falling  back,  —  it 
might  perhaps  be  permitted  you,  you  at  least, 
to  maintain  a  mournful  resignation.  But  why 
so  ?  Because  you  have  not  obtained  or  have 
lost  an  agreeable  position,  do  you  believe  your- 
self out  of  place  in  the  world?  You  would 
have  wished  to  be  rich,  and,  behold,  you  are 


Sorrow.  65 


poor ;  you  would  have  liked  to  fulfil  public 
duties,  and  you  are  a  simple  citizen ;  you 
would  have  wished  to  possess  the  esteem  and 
love  of  your  fellows,  and  you  are  hated  by  all. 
Ah !  well,  my  brother,  poor,  simple  citizen, 
hated  as  you  are,  be  henceforth  God's  work- 
man. Put  your  hand  to  the  plough  without 
any  personal  pre-occupation,  without  looking 
back  to  contemplate  the  ruins  of  your  other 
projects,  without  calculating  whether  this  time 
you  will  harvest  the  fruit  of  the  sweat  of  your 
brow.  In  order  to  be  of  God's  workers,  it  is 
not  necessary  to  have  the  use  of  long  leisure, 
or  high  authority,  or  great  treasures.  Bring 
only  your  indigence,  with  the  nobleness  of  a 
soldier  of  Christ,  and  you  will  already  have 
done  much.  This  generation  needs  preachers 
who  teach  it  by  their  example  of  frugality  and 
moderation  :  be  one  of  these  preachers  by  sim- 
ply showing  yourself  content  with  your  lot. 
And  since  this  generation  has  gone  so  far  as 
to  believe  no  longer  in  the  strength  of  convic- 
tions, let  it  see, — you  whose  services  it  has 
5 


66  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

repulsed,  and  whom  it  overwhelms  with  its 
disdain  —  let  it  see  that  a  man's  convictions 
are  colors  far  more  sacred  on  the  day  of  defeat 
than  on  the  day  of  victory.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  let  your  constancy  show  nothing  of  cha- 
grin, of  spite,  or  misanthropy.  Be  so  much 
the  more  gentle  and  affectionate,  the  more  you 
are  rebuffed.  How  can  you  complain  of  being 
condemned  to  inaction,  when  a  career  so  fine 
is  open  for  your  need  of  activity?  However 
crushed  your  life  may  seem,  you  can  do  an 
immense  deal  of  good ;  you  can-  be  intensely 
happy. 

And  you,  brothers  and  sisters,  whose  hearts 
bleed  with  a  wound  ever  new,  I  do  not  say  to 
you,  "Recover  happiness  by  ceasing  to  love, 
or  by  transporting  your  love  to  some  other 
object."  For  affection  is  not  a  flower  to  be 
gathered  by  the  roadside,  whose  perfume  we 
may  breathe  with  delight,  and  can  then  fling 
away  with  indifference  as  soon  as  it  has  faded 
in  our  grasp.  But  I  say  to  you,  "Recover 
your  happiness  by  loving  yet  more,  with  a  love 


Sorrow,  67 


more  disinterested,  with  a  love  that  is  active 
and  devoted." 

If,  in  smiting  you  through  the  being  whom 
you  cherish  most  deeply,  God  has,  neverthe- 
less, favored  you,  by  leaving  him  still  with 
you,  your  conduct  is  traced  clearly.  Does  he 
suffer?  Consecrate  yourself  to  softening  his 
sufferings,  and  especially  to  sustaining  him; 
which  is  more  difficult  than  might  be  believed. 
Await  no  reward.  Be  careful  to  keep  no  kind 
of  account  current  in  which  you  will  inscribe, 
on  one  side,  your  own  pains  that  you  have 
taken,  and,  on  the  other,  the  testimonies  of  his 
gratitude.  Serve  him  with  no  after-thought  of 
happiness,  and  you  will  see  that  your  sacrifice 
will  bring  it  home  to  you.  But,  perhaps,  his 
faults,  his  vices,  cost  you  tears.  The  task  will 
be  much  harder ;  but  it  will  not  be  above  your 
powers.  It  seems  to  me  almost  impossible 
that  by  force  of  true  charity,  tender  and  perse- 
vering, you  will  not  succeed  in  bringing  him 
back  into  the  right  way.  Let  there  be  no 
trace  of  self-love  in  your  affection.     Love,  as 


68  The  Service  of  Sorrow, 

God  loves  us,  for  us,  for  our  own  good,  and 
not  for  his  own  satisfaction.  Love  without 
feebleness  and  without  waywardness,  always 
incapable  of  compromising  with  conscience ; 
but  constantly  ready  to  give  yourself  always 
filled  with  an  unchanging  hope.  Hope  is  the 
force  reserved  especially  for  this  trial. 

Is  not  this,  too,  a  consolation  for  you  who 
are  separated  from  a  friend  by  the  abyss  of  the 
tomb?  You  know  that  sooner  or  later  you 
will  rejoin  him  ;  and  very  often  you  sigh  with 
impatience,  thinking  of  death.  But  until  then 
it  is  necessary  to  live,  day  after  day.  Perhaps 
with  Job  you  cry,  "Wherefore  is  life  given  to 
those  who  are  bitter  in  soul,  who  rejoice 
exceedingly,  and  are  glad,  when  they  can  find 
the  grave  ?  "  Why  does  God  leave  you  life  ? 
In  order  that  your  affection  may  purify  it- 
self, like  gold  in  the  crucible,  freeing  itself 
by  the  fire  of  tribulation  from  all  alloy  of 
selfishness.  It  was  easy  for  you  to  love  when 
you  enjoyed  the  sweet  talks,  the  long  unfold- 
ings  of  soul  to  soul,  the  indefinable  charm  of 


Sorrow,  69 


meeting  face  to  face  :  you  will  learn  now  to 
love  in  silence  and  solitude  and  darkness,  with- 
out any  thing  to  recall  that  such  a  heart  is 
comprehending  you.  You  had,  until  now,  a 
thousand  pleasing  ways  of  showing  and  ex- 
pressing your  affection ;  you  will  henceforth 
have  but  one,  and  that  is  an  austere  one  :  it  is 
to  labor  incessantly  for  your  own  improvement, 
to  fulfil  your  duties,  great  and  small,  with  a 
severe  conscience.  As  soon  as  your  love  is  no 
longer  selfish,  it  will  no  longer  contain  any 
thing  selfishly  exclusive  :  purified  and  fortified 
by  the  Holy  Spirit,  without  ceasing  to  be  per- 
sonal, it  must  needs  overflow  from  your  heart 
upon  the  world  in  a  shower  of  gentleness,  pa- 
tience, benevolence,  and  charity. 

Of  all  men  who  have  ever  traversed  the 
earth,  none  has  suffered  so  much  as  Christ; 
because  in  suffering,  above  all  things,  did  we 
need  a  divine  guide.  His  body  was  scourged, 
put  upon  the  cross,  pierced  with  nails,  exposed 
to  a  burning  sun,  until  life  was  crushed  out 
from  it  by  excess  of  pain.     And  already  had 


7o 


The  Service  of  Sorrow. 


he  known  all  the  bitterness  in  which  society 
can  steep  us ;  poverty,  with  scorn  and  anguish 
heaped  upon  it;  want  of  success,  with  its  re- 
grets and  agitations  ;  hatred,  with  its  insults  and 
its  calumnies.  Were  the  pains  of  the  heart 
lacking,  when  his  mother  and  his  brothers 
wished  to  take  possession  of  him  as  of  a 
wretched  madman ;  when  he  saw  his  apostles 
persevere  in  their  gross,  carnal  views ;  when 
he  understood  that  one  of  the  twelve  was  pre- 
paring to  sell  him  for  thirty  pieces  of  silver ; 
and  when,  in  Gethsemane,  he  begged  his  three 
disciples  in  vain  to  watch  one  hour  with  him  ; 
and  when,  in  the  Prastorium,  he  perceived 
among  the  soldiers  and  priests  only  one  friendly 
face,  and  this  friend  denied  him  even  three 
times  ?  "  The  Lord,"  says  the  Scripture,  "  turn- 
ing, then  looked  upon  Peter ;  and  Peter  went  out 
and  wept  bitterly."  I  believe  it,  indeed  :  from 
what  eyes  would  tears  have  not  been  wrung  at 
a  glance  of  such  ineffable  sadness? 

But  see,  too,  in  the  midst  of  all  these  tribu- 
lations, how  strong  Christ  was.    What  activity, 


Sorrow.  71 


what  energy,  what  valor !  And  then  what 
serenity,  calmness,  and  sweetness  !  See  what 
a  man,  can  be  and  can  do  amid  the  most  vivid 
trials.  Or  rather  it  is  through  these  trials  that 
Jesus  became  our  Saviour ;  and  it  is  through 
our  trials,  too,  my  brothers,  that  we  shall  be 
like  him.  Yet  it  is  not  enough  that  we  are 
smitten.  We  may  suffer  enormously,  and  yet 
remain  selfish,  sensual,  perverse.  If  the  most 
unhappy  were  necessarily  the  most  virtuous, 
the  lower  stratum  of  the  social  world  were  a 
school  of  sanctity.  For  nowhere  is  there 
greater  suffering.  Affliction  elevates  us  only 
when,  by  our  own  consent,  it  works  patience ; 
and  then,  if,  with  our  own  assistance,  patience 
has  its  perfect  work.  It  requires  our  own 
will. 

But,  alas!  who  wills  it?  Some,  to  reduce 
as  low  as  possible  the  office  of  grief,  cease  to 
live,  and  set  themselves  to  vegetate  in  a  hot- 
house, where  they  stop  up  all  the  chinks  with 
care,  for  fear  a  breath  shall  disturb  their  quiet. 
Others  live  in  the  open  air,  take  part  in  what- 


72  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

ever  is  agitating,  even  provoke  suffering ;  but, 
as  soon  as  they  feel  its  sting,  you  see  them  ask 
of  the  universe  all  its  distractions,  in  order  to 
direct  their  thoughts  and  to  forget.  Ah  !  it  is 
not  only  for  the  evils  of  the  body  that  a  method 
has  been  invented  to  render  ourselves  insensi- 
ble. 

Brethren,  let  us  never  use  this  moral  chloro- 
form, but  let  us  allow  —  oh!  resolutely  allow 
suffering  to  penetrate  our  souls,  and  transfigure 
us  into  the  image  of  Christ. 


THE  soul  that  suffers  is  stronger  than  the 
soul  that  rejoices.  Remember  this,  also, 
that  you  are  bound  to  suffer  whatever  is  put 
upon  you.  And  it  does  by  no  means  follow, 
that,  because  it  is  not  the  work  of  God,  it  is  not 
His  will.  This  is  a  comfort  we  need  not  deny 
ourselves,  through  pride,  as  we  deny  ourselves 

the  comfort  of  our  kind. 

E.  Shepard. 


I  HAVE  also  felt  much  perplexed  as  to  what 
submission  really  is,  whether  we  ought  to 
like  all  that  happens  to  us,  as  well  as  to  take  it 
without  complaining.  But  Hugh  says,  sub- 
mission does  not  mean  we  are  to  call  bitter 
things  sweet,  or  to  try  to  feel  them  so  ;  but  that 
we  are  to  take  them,  however  we  dislike  them, 
without  a  murmur,  being  sure  that  the  bitterest 
are  really  good,  because  God  sends  them. 

Mrs.  Kitty  Trevylyan. 


FROM   LETTERS   OF  JOUBERT   TO   A 
FRIEND. 


["  OFFER  your  affliction  to  your  reason  and  to 
■*■  time  :  these  alone  can  help  you.  In  the 
name  of  Heaven,  do  not  reject  the  future,  and 
let  the  present  pass  on.  You  have  met  with 
irreparable  losses,  but  you  have  not  yet  reached 
the  middle  of  your  career;  and  life,  in  its  ex- 
tent, may  offer  you  unexpected  compensations. 
Do  not  commit  such  an  outrage  upon  Provi- 
dence as  to  believe  that  it  has  exhausted  its 
treasures  for  you,  and  that  it  has  not  still  some 
with  which  to  make  you  amends.  Great  gifts 
may  yet  await  you.     Nature,  which  is  full  of 


Letters  of  "Joubert  to  a  Friend.        75 

pains,  is  full,  too,  of  consolations.  You  would 
be  unwise  to  repulse  them.  Until  they  present 
themselves,  accept,  at  least,  the  light  distrac- 
tions offered  you  by  all  the  objects  that  sur- 
round you.  There  is  in  that  part  of  our  moral 
faculties  that  we  call  our  sensibility,  a  disposi- 
tion to  excess,  a  sort  of  irritability  that  needs 
to  be  tempered  by  the  pure  and  peaceable  en- 
joyments of  the  senses.  If  the  senses  are 
held  in  inaction,  the  soul  becomes  dry  as  a  plant 
without  dew.  I  beg  you,  mingle  some  sensa- 
tions with  your  sentiments ;  love  some  odors, 
some  colors,  sounds,  and  savors,  or  you  will  be 
far  from  wise.  God  has  blest  us  with  varied 
gifts ;  some  He  has  created  for  the  soul,  some 
for  the  body.  Would  you  dare  to  accept  but 
one-half  of  the  goods  his  hand  offers,  and  dis- 
dain and  reject  the  other?  Surely  you  would 
be  punished  for  it. 

For  myself,  if  I  may  venture  to  mention  my- 
self as  example,  I  fulfil,  as  I  best  can,  under 
all  the  circumstances,  the  duty  of  being  happy. 
I  am  always  as  much  so  as  I  can  be ;  and,  if  I 


>j6  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

am  but  little,  I  say  to  God,  "Thou  seest,  Lord, 
I  cannot  do  more.  Pardon  it  for  the  sake  of 
my  infirmity,  and  the  course  of  events." 

I  do  not  pretend  to  be  insensible,  indeed,  to 
any  of  the  accidents  of  life ;  and  I  should  be 
sorry  to  be  so.  But,  in  the  infinite  multitude  of 
ways  by  which  we  can  be  affected,  there  is  not 
one  of  these  events,  happy  or  sad,  that  is  not 
capable  of  producing  in  us  a  sublime  and  noble 
sentiment.  It  is  this  sentiment  that  I  seek.  I 
rapidly  pass  by  all  the  others  to  stay  only  at 
this.  Thus  my  sorrows,  as  well  as  my  joys, 
are  eternal.  When  my  soul  has  been  able  to 
attain  this,  it  clings  to  it,  and  for  ever.  Every 
day  I  am  conscious  of  some  that  have  lasted 
from  my  cradle.  But  these  pure  griefs  are  as 
good  as  joy ;  and  I  know,  by  my  own  expe- 
rience, that  affliction  even  is  no  enemy  to 
happiness ;  that  is  to  say,  to  the  state  in  which 
the  soul  finds  a  constant  satisfaction  in  itself. 
It  matters  little  if  it  is  content  with  events,  so 
long  as  its  way  of  submitting  to  them  renders 
it  content  with  itself.     The  soul  finds  content 


Letters  of  youbert  to  a  Friend.         77 

by  the  perfecting  of  a  sensibility,  which,  well 
taught  and  guided,  knows  how  to  extract 
honey  from  every  thing.  It  can  be  found  even 
in  pain. 

But  you  fear,  you  say,  in  accepting  consola- 
tion, you  may  outrage  and  wound  the  dear 
shades,  the  sacred  manes,  of  your  friends. 
Here  is  an  exaggeration  of  language  and  of 
sentiment  that  I  should  treat  with  no  considera- 
tion. 

No  honest  affection  can  wound  hearts  that 
are  noble.  If  in  our  terrestrial  imperfection 
we  feel  jealousy,  it  must  cease  and  fall  away 
with  the  clay  that  environs  our  nature.  Be- 
yond this  life,  all  is  purity,  all  is  goodness. 
Ah  !  even  in  this  world,  one  might  find  a  soul 
so  great  as  not  to  be  wounded  by  so  kind  a 
sentiment,  if,  in  the  rude  envelope  in  which 
our  hearts  are  hidden,  and  in  the  blindness  in 
which  our  pride  steeps  us,  we  did  not  fancy 
that  the  love  of  which  others  than  ourselves 
is  the  object  is  an  exclusion,  and  humiliating  to 
the  love  that  is  given  to  us  ;  if  we  did  not  sup- 


78  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

pose  that  in  giving  to  others  something  is  taken 
from  us,  that  we  are  exiled  when  they  are  ad- 
mitted, that  we  are  despoiled  when  others 
come  in  for  a  share.  We  wish  to  be  loved 
alone,  for  fear  of  not  being  loved  at  all. 

But  celestial  intelligences  feel  very  differ- 
ently :  the  idea  of  "  sharing,"  which  for  us  in 
our  blindness  is  inseparable  from  the  idea  of 
diminution,  because  one  does  not  operate  with- 
out the  other  in  the  material  objects  that  our 
hands  touch  incessantly,  offers  to  these  clear- 
sighted beings  only  an  impression  of  extent 
that  pleases  and  rejoices  them. 

None  of  the  letters  that  you  have  written  me 
have  afflicted  me  as  much  as  the  last.  I  see, 
then,  how  deep  is  your  wound ;  and,  in  some 
degree,  how  irremediable.  Your  soul  has 
taken  sides  with  your  desolation,  and  reasons 
as  that  pleases.  All  turns  to  sadness  for  you, 
and  your  reflections  tend  only  to  draw  from 
every  thing  some  subject  for  dejection.  I  have 
taken  the  wrong  road.     I  have  occupied  you 


Letters  of  Joubert  to  a  Friend.        79 

too  much  with  your  misfortune,  wishing  to 
render  it  lighter  for  you.  Your  whole  soul  is 
sick ;  but,  since  I  have  imprudently  provoked 
it  to  reason  upon  its  malady,  I  will  not  leave 
some  of  your  observations  without  answer,  nor 
those  opinions  unexplained  which  I  have  not 
sufficiently  developed. 

No :  the  friends  that  we  have  lost  are  not 
honored  by  such  excessive  grief,  which  honors 
no  one  ;  because  it  exposes  more  the  weakness 
and  the  stubbornness  of  those  who  display  it 
than  the  grandeur  of  the  loss  to  which  they  have 
submitted.  There  is  a  certain  lady  of  fashion, 
who,  for  the  death  of  a  child  four  days  old, 
has  lamented  more,  has  wept  more,  and  per- 
sisted in  deeper  show  of  grief,  than  is  done  for 
beings  whose  life  was  of  the  greatest  value. 
What  honors  those  who  are  no  more  is  a  mod- 
erate grief,  whose  very  moderation  permits  it 
to  be  as  lasting  as  the  life  of  him  who  feels  it, 
because  it  exhausts  neither  his  soul  nor  body ; 
a  lofty  grief,  that  allows  the  occupations  and 
even  the  relaxations  of  life  to  pass  on  in  its 


80  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

very  presence ;  a  calm  grief,  which  sets  us  at 
war  neither  with  fate  nor  with  the  world  nor 
with  ourselves,  and  which  pervades  a  soul  at 
peace,  in  the  moments  of  its  leisure,  without 
interrupting  its  intercourse  with  the  living  and 
the  dead. 


THE  BATTLE  SUMMER. 


'  I  ^HE  summer  came,  full  of  anxiety  and 
-*-  dread.  It  was  the  terrible  summer,  the 
saddest  of  the  war,  when  the  army  lay  before 
Richmond,  when  we  were  waiting  and  waiting, 
and  to  all  our  expectations  there  came  only  a 
sad  answer  and  the  news  of  death.  The  sad 
message  came  to  us  too  ;  sorrow  upon  sorrow. 
I  have  heard  that  it  is  often  so  ;  that,  when  one 
sorrow  comes,  another  follows  in  its  train.  I 
cannot  say  if  it  is  so,  and  who  could  venture? 
I  know  not  who  can  read  the  law  of  such 
things,  except  in  this,  to  find  that  all  must  be 
for  good. 

6 


The  Service  of  Sorrow. 


Perhaps  one  grief  gives  the  strength  for 
bearing  another,  and  brings  along  certain  con- 
solations, opens  certain  fountains  of  strength 
unknown  before.  However  it  is,  with  us 
grief  came  upon  grief,  after  many  happy 
years. 

It  was  a  time  of  darkness  for  all.  It  was 
hard  to  look  forward  and  hope,  and  we  seemed 
to  be  all  moving  in  a  heavy  dream.  For  one 
of  the  qualities  of  a  terrible  dream  is  its  utter 
hopelessness.  We  seem,  then,  to  be  bound 
hand  and  foot,  or  we  are  forced  to  run,  or  com- 
pelled into  some  inevitable  destiny.  And  so, 
in  return,  all  very  hopeless  times  seem  like 
fearful  dreams.  Could  we  only  wake  from 
them  !     But  where  is  the  hope  ? 

Our  waking  came  with  the  news  of  another 
death, — Gertrude's  oldest  boy.  He  died, 
brave  to  the  last,  in  the  midst  of  battle.  Our 
boy!  This  was  all  we  could  know  of  him. 
All !  And  was  not  this  enough  ?  It  is  happy 
when  the  death  corresponds  to  the  life,  and 
the  life  is  only  an  illustration  of  the  death. 


The  Battle  Summer.  83 

When  the  life  has  been  courageous  and  un- 
selfish, then  we  can  believe  that  the  death  is 
brave  and  noble.  We  need  not  ask  for  any 
death-bed  scene  nor  words  of  parting ;  for  the 
brave  act  speaks  better. 

"  God  be  thanked  that  he  could  die  so,"  we 
say  in  our  agony,  while  we  knew,  that,  as  he 
had  lived  bravely  always,  he  could  only  die  so. 
This  is  a  strange  sorrow  we  feel  for  those  who 
die  for  the  sake  of  a  great  cause.  It  is  a  sor- 
row mingled  with  a  great  pride,  if  they  belong 
to  us.  In  its  bitterest  moments,  we  feel  that 
we  could  not  have  it  otherwise. 

A  great  gift  has  he  given  in  offering  his  life. 
He  showed  how  precious  it  was  in  the  very  act 
of  giving  it  away. 

"Wo  unto  that  man  by  whom  the  offence 
cometh  !  "  I  said  to  Gertrude,  in  thinking  of  the 
evil  that  had  caused  the  war,  and  the  authors 
of  the  evil.  She  changed  the  words.  "Alas 
for  them  ! "  she  said.  She  had  grown  very 
gentle.  The  sorrow  was  sad  :  to  have  caused 
the  sorrow  had  been  far  more  bitter. 


84  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

Her  suffering  was  too  deep  for  bitterness ; 
and  her  other  loss  did  help  in  bearing  this. 
It  would  have  been  so  hard  for  him  to  part 
with  his  oldest  son.  "  But  how  proud  he  would 
have  been  ! " 

There  were  many  others  to  suffer  with  us. 
Certain  words  came  to  us  to  strengthen  us,  that, 
we  often  repeated. 

"  Think  it  not  strange,  concerning  the  fiery 
trial  which  is  to  try  you,  as  though  some 
strange  thing  happened  to  you." 

A  great  sufferer  said  this  long  ago.     This 

fiery  trial,  as   it  was,    he    found   no   strange 

thing,   and  would  have    us    find   it   so.     And 

more  still,  he  says,  "Rejoice,  inasmuch  as  ye 

are  partakers  of  Christ's  sufferings." 

And  this  death  of  the  young  and  brave  was 
to  become  no  strange  thing  to  all  of  us.  Ah, 
how  many  hearts  were  torn  with  sorrow,  how 
many  homes  made  desolate  ! 

A  new,  strange  thing  it  was  at  first,  indeed ; 
for  this  was  our  first  lesson  in  the  horrors  of 
war.     It  was  hard,  at  first,  to  consent  to  such 


The  Battle  Summer.  85 

a  thing,  that  war  should  be  ;  harder  still  to  find 
how  many  of  the  choicest  must  be  sacrificed  to 
it,  that  just  these  must  fall  for  the  sake  of  the 
purification  of  the  country.  "  Rejoice  !  "  How 
could  we  rejoice?  how  could  the  mother  be 
willing  to  part  with  her  son,  and  the  wife  with 
her  husband  —  joyfully?  Yet  it  was  so.  In 
the  midst  of  the  most  hopeless  days,  they  could 
rejoice.  But  of  this  very  sorrow  came  courage 
and  joy.  They  had  become  partakers  of 
Christ's  sufferings ;  they  who  gave  their  lives, 
and  those  who  must  mourn  for  them. 

For  Jesus  said,  "  Greater  love  has  no  man 
than  this,  that  he  lay  down  his  life  for  his 
friends."  And  for  us,  all  these  have  offered 
up  their  lives  ;  to  keep  away  war  and  bloodshed 
from  our  firesides  and  homes.  For  others 
more  helpless,  too,  they  have  laid  down  their 
lives, — the  young  leader  in  the  same  grave 
with  those  whose  rights  and  liberty  he  was  de- 
fending. What  death  more  glorious  !  What 
life  in  death  ! 

And  we,  too,  must  glory  in  being  partakers 


86  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

of  such  sufferings.  Listen  to  the  words  of 
Christ :  — 

"Verily  I  say  unto  you,  except  a  corn  of 
wheat  fall  into  the  ground  and  die,  it  abideth 
alone ;  but,  if  it  die,  it  bringeth  forth  much 
fruit. 

"He  that  loveth  his  life  shall  lose  it,  and 
whosoever  shall  lose  his  life  for  my  sake  and 
the  gospel's  shall  keep  it  unto  life  eternal." 

We  must  all  some  time  part  with  those  dear- 
est to  us.  We  must  all  die  ourselves.  It  is 
out  of  the  manner  of  our  death  and  life  that 
grows  the  life  eternal. 


GOD  IS  PRESENT  IN  OUR  TROUBLE. 


/^\  GOD  !  thou  hast  cast  us  off;  thou  hast 
^-^  scattered  us  ;  thou  hast  been  displeased. 
O  turn  thyself  to  us  again  !  Thou  hast  made 
the  earth  to  tremble ;  thou  hast  broken  it. 
Heal  the  breaches  thereof;  for  it  shaketh. 

Thou  hast  showed  thy  people  hard  things ; 
thou  hast  made  us  to  drink  the  wine  of  aston- 
ishment. 

Thou  hast  given  a  banner  to  them  that  fear 
thee,  that  it  may  be  displayed  because  of  the 
truth,  that  thy  beloved  may  be  delivered  :  save 
with  thy  right  hand,  and  hear  me. 


88  The  Service  of  Sorrow, 

Hear  my  cry,  O  God !  attend  unto  my 
prayer.  From  the  end  of  the  earth  will  I  cry 
unto  thee  :  when  my  heart  is  overwhelmed, 
lead  me  to  the  rock  that  is  higher  than  I. 

Because  thou  hast  been  my  help,  therefore 
in  the  shadow  of  thy  wings  will  I  rejoice. 

O  thou  that  hearest  prayer  !  unto  thee  shall 
all  flesh  come. 

By  terrible  things  in  righteousness  wilt  thou 
answer  us,  O  God  of  our  salvation  !  who  art 
the  confidence  of  all  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and 
of  them  that  are  afar  off  upon  the  sea. 


^w 


IN   PRESENCE   OF  BATTLE. 


TJELIEVE  me,  nowhere  does  one  think 
-*^  more  rarely  of  dying  than  in  camp 
among  the  dying.  Man  is  here  a  flame,  not 
ashes.  The  colors  are  seen  borne  along,  wav- 
ing over  the  current  of  battle,  but  high  above 
the  graves  that  it  cuts  through,  and  those  who 
are  opening  the  graves.  And  the  throb  of 
death,  though  it  were  our  own,  appears  only  as 
one  more  motion,  the  last,  against  the  enemy. 
Strength  and  right  here  elevate  the  feelings  : 
there  is  no  chamber  anguish  to  stifle  them. 
In  the    midst   of  the   kingdom    of  ideas    and 


9° 


The  Service  of  Sorrow. 


deeds,  which  nowhere  stand  so  near  each  other 
as  in  battle,  is  the  fleshly  life  easily  given  up ; 
and  if  a  forlorn  child  or  a  trembling  old  man 
stands  calling  for  your  saving  hand,  then  you 
go  forth  against  the  barbarous  horde  like  a 
lion,  and  the  flash  of  powder  seems  like  the 
silver-flash  of  life. 

J.    P.    RlCHTER. 


UNIVERSITY 


c 

THE   DIVINE  LIFE. 


■h*3 


np^HE  divinest  life  the  All-Father  ever  sent 
-■-  into  this  world,  — I  will  make  no  irrev- 
erent comparison,  —  the  life  of  his  own  Holy 
Spirit,  for  his  own  highest  designs,  continued 
here  but  a  little  over  thirty  years ;  yet  was  it 
long  enough  for  its  own  perfecting,  and  readi- 
ness to  be  glorified,  long  enough  for  doing  all 
the  Father's  will,  and  long  enough  for  sending 
light,  comfort,  and  a  saving  power  over  the 
world  and  through  the  ages.  And  those  who 
have  most  resembled  that  highest  one,  how 
often  do  we  see  them  fade  in  death,  or  rather 


92  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

flower  up  into  immortality,  in  the  dew  of  their 
youth,  or  the  prime  of  their  beauty  and  power  ! 
Heaven  wants  them,  and  opens  its  pearly  gates 
for  them ;  and  they  go  up  in  the  light  of  the 
morning  sun  to  be  crowned,  and  forwarded  on 
their  eternal  course. 

And  this  life,  over  whose  close  we  meditate 
and  pray  and  weep  to-day,  —  do  not  murmur 
that  it  has  been  short  in  the  reckoning  of  our 
earthly  calendar.  Think  rather  how  rich,  how 
beautiful,  how  highly  inspired  and  nobly  spent 
it  has  been,  —  and  still  is  ;  for  is  it  not  here  still, 
here  in  its  dear  and  sacred  memories,  and  all 
the  sweet  companionships  of  the  spirit?  Was 
he  ever  so  dearly  loved  as  to-day?  Was  he 
ever  so  near  as  now  to  those  to  whom  he  has 
been  always  nearest? 

Rev.  George  Putnam. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  DEATH  IN  BATTLE. 


SERMON,    BY  F.   BRETSCHNEIDER. 

(Translated  from  the  German.) 

"And,  when  the  sixth  hour  was  come,  there  was  dark- 
ness over  the  whole  land  until  the  ninth  hour.  And,  at  the 
ninth  hour,  Jesus  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  saying,  Eloi, 
Eloi,  lama  sabacthani !  which  is,  being  interpreted,  My 
God,  my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me?  And  some  of 
them  that  stood  by,  when  they  heard  it,  said,  Behold,  he 
calleth  Elias.  And  one  ran,  and  filled  a  sponge  full  of  vine- 
gar, and  put  it  on  a  reed,  and  gave  him  to  drink,  saying, 
Let  alone ;  let  us  see  whether  Elias  will  come  to  take  him 
down.  And  Jesus  cried  with  a  loud  voice,  and  gave  up  the 
ghost.  And  the  veil  of  the  temple  was  rent  in  twain,  from 
the  top  to  the  bottom.  And  when  the  centurion,  which 
stood  over  against  him,  saw  that  he  so  cried  out  and  gave 
up  the  ghost,  he  said,  Truly  this  man  was  the  Son  of  God." 
—  Mark  xv.  33-39. 

II  7HEN  we  see  beloved  friends  snatched 

?  *       from  our   side ;    when  into  the  silent 

kingdom  of  the  dead  is  borne  the   youth   in 


94  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

the  bloom  of  his  years,  or  the  revered  head 
of  a  family  in  the  fulness  of  power  and  ac- 
tivity, we  mourn  deeply,  and  our  sorrow  flows 
in  a  stream  of  hot  tears.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  we  find  a  consolation  in  the  thought 
that  their  death  was  not  owing  to  human  pas- 
sions or  follies,  but  that  it  followed  the  cus- 
tomary course  of  nature  ;  and  that  the  beloved 
one  met  with  the  death-struggle  peacefully,  on 
his  bed,  surrounded  by  friends,  and  consoled 
by  their  words  and  support. 

But  if  the  wickedness  of  a  murderer,  the 
violence  of  an  assassin,  has  forcibly  short- 
ened the  life  of  an  innocent  being ;  if  we  greet 
the  pale  corpse  of  him,  who,  going  forth  as  a 
peaceful  wanderer,  met  with  death  from  the 
hand  of  human  wickedness,  then  our  heart 
shudders  before  the  terrible  lot  of  such  a  vic- 
tim. For  he  was  obliged  to  breathe  out  his 
life  violently  through  the  crime  of  his  brother ; 
not  in  the  arms  of  dear  friends,  but  beneath  the 
blows  of  a  bloodthirsty  wretch ;  not  with  the 
consoling  sympathy  of  love,  but  amid  the  fren- 


The  Soldier's  Death  in  Battle.  95 

zy  of  anger  and  rage.  Wherefore,  O  Infinite 
Goodness  !  do  our  bowed  hearts  sigh  ?  Where- 
fore must  this  innocent  man  be  subject  to  the 
wickedness  of  his  murderer? 

Yet,  dear  friends,  what  is  the  loss  of  one 
man,  compared  with  that  of  hundreds  and 
thousands?  Compare  the  sight  of  one  mur- 
dered man  with  that  of  a  battle-field,  where 
thousands  lie  dead,  or  in  the  death-struggle, 
and  where  their  life  has  been  suddenly  cut  off 
by  violence.  What  must  our  hearts  feel  at 
such  a  sight !  How  anxiously  should  we  cry 
to  heaven,  Wherefore,  O  wise  and  infinite 
Providence !  must  these  thousands  be  sacri- 
ficed to  death,  and  in  such  a  way,  —  through 
the  hands  of  their  own  brothers? 

*  For  twenty  years  has  war  raged  over  one 
part  of  the  world  :  over  the  whole  country  are 
battle-fields  moistened  with  man's  blood.  Rest- 
lessly rages  now  the  sword  of  war  in   many 


*  This  was  preached  in  the  year  1812,  when  the  French 
army,  together  with  the  German,  was  turning  towards 
Russia. 


96  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

lands,  and  a  new  spectacle  of  destruction 
threatens  to  disclose  itself. 

Thousands  will  find  their  end  in  this  great 
struggle.  The  conquerors  of  our  people  draw 
near  for  this  strife,  and  the  angel  of  death 
will  surely  enter  among  them.  Can  we  be  in- 
different, brethren,  to  this  destined  sacrifice? 
Should  it  not  fill  us  with  pain  and  sorrow? 

Yet  remember  that  you  live  in  a  world  where 
the  holiest  and  the  noblest  are  often  victims  to 
human  violence  and  cruelty,  or  at  least  appear 
so ;  in  a  world  where  peace  has  not  its  home, 
but  strife ;  where  even  the  Son  of  God,  when 
he  brought  the  blessings  of  God  to  mankind, 
found  death  upon  the  cross.  Look  upon  this 
death  of  your  Lord,  to  the  solemnization  of 
which  this  day  is  consecrated.  It  was  far  more 
painful  this  death  ;  far  more  cruel  and  extraor- 
dinary, than  the  end  of  those  who  pour  out 
their  blood  upon  the  battle-field.  But  it  has 
some  striking  resemblances  to  the  death  of  the 
fallen  warrior,  which  are  instructive,  and  con- 
soling for  us  too,  if  we  consider  them  closely. 


The  Soldier's  Death  in  Battle.  97 

It  will  be  worthy  of  the  day  of  our  Lord's 
death  to  compare  the  death  of  Jesus  to  that  of 
so  many  bloody  victims  of  war ;  and  it  will 
bring  trust  to  our  hearts  to  discover,  in  this 
comparison,  reasons  for  consolation  for  the  fate 
of  our  brethren  who  are  doomed  to  death. 

The  evangelist  describes  the  last  bitter 
struggle  of  the  Redeemer,  his  death-struggle. 
The  description,  simple  and  unadorned  as  it  is, 
strikes  every  feeling  heart,  that  tries  to  picture 
this  noblest  of  men.  He  was  wounded  painful- 
ly ;  surrounded  by  a  rude,  unfeeling  crowd, 
whom  he  would  fain  have  benefited ;  mocked 
by  scorning  enemies,  and  now  he  is  dying  a 
lingering  death.  More  terrible  was  his  lot, 
more  bitter  than  that  of  the  warrior  falling  in 
battle.  For  he  fights  on  for  this  booty  of  his  life  ; 
but  Jesus  could  only  suffer.  He  finds,  when 
he  falls,  often  some  consoler  who  lightens  the 
struggle  of  death  ;  but  Jesus  had  not  one  to  con- 
sole him.  He  dies  in  the  field  of  glory  and 
honor,  and  his  name  will  be  held  sacred  among 
the  brave  ;  but  Jesus  died  a  shameful  death,  — 
7 


The  Service  of  Sorrow, 


that  of  a  despised  criminal.  The  soldier  falls 
by  the  side  of  noble  companions  in  arms  ;  but 
Jesus  died  surrounded  by  malefactors  thrust  out 
from  society.  Yet  dissimilar  as  is  the  manner 
of  their  death  in  many  respects,  on  the  other 
side  is  the  resemblance  great  between  the  death 
of  Jesus  and  that  of  the  fallen  soldier. 

First,  let  us  consider  in  what  does  this  re- 
semblance consist.  Then  what  consolation 
can  we  draw  from  it  for  the  death  of  the  victims 
of  war. 

I.  The  resemblance  does  not  lie  deeply  con- 
cealed. We  find  it  in  these  points  :  that  Jesus 
was  in  the  bloom  of  his  years ;  that  he  was 
forced  to  die  a  violent  and  painful  death,  as  a 
victim  to  human  passions,  and  with  claims  to 
happiness  and  reward  all  unfulfilled. 

They  were  taken  away  in  the  bloom  of 
their  years.  In  his  thirty-third  year,  at  that 
age  of  fresh  life  when  the  full  power  of  man 
has  just  developed  itself,  at  a  time  when  his 
capabilities  were  at  their  height,  with  all  those 
powers  for  teaching  and  making  happy  that 


The  Soldier's  Death  in  Battle.  99 

world  to  which  his  blessed  activity  was  giving 
a  new  form,  —  in  this  very  time  did  the  wicked- 
ness of  his  enemies  snatch  Jesus  away,  short- 
ening his  days,  and  drawing  him  violently  to 
his  grave,  in  the  very  current  of  a  life  full  of 
activity  and  beauty.  Similar  to  this  is  the  fate 
of  most  soldiers  who  fall  on  the  battle-field. 
Most  of  them  stand  in  the  fairest  bloom  of  their 
youth.  They  are  youths  who  have  scarcely 
left  the  shelter  of  their  parental  homes ;  men, 
in  the  fulness  of  their  strength,  and  gifted  by 
nature  with  a  blooming  health,  which  promises 
them  every  claim  to  a  long  life.  They  are  at 
the  age  when  the  powers  of  the  body  and  soul 
are  at  their  freshest,  the  claims  upon  life  and 
happiness  at  their  strongest,  and  the  hold  upon 
hope  and  joy  is  the  firmest.  These,  too,  does 
destiny  snatch  away  in  the  midst  of  a  life  full 
to  its  brim.  It  smites  them  down  in  the  midst 
of  their  course. 

Again,  Jesus  died,  not  in  the  course  of  na- 
ture, not  in  the  arms  of  cherishing,  consoling 
love,  but  by  a  violent  and  very  painful  death. 


ioo  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

It  was  not  to  the  strength  of  disease,  not  to  the 
weakness  of  age,  nor  the  exhaustion  of  his 
powers  in  the  service  of  duty  or  of  mankind, 
that  Jesus  yielded  up  his  life  ;  but  on  the  cross 
did  he  let  loose  the  blood  of  that  noble  body, 
and  wounds  the  most  painful  forced  him  to 
taste  the  bitterness  of  death  drop  by  drop,  and 
rent  with  violence  the  ties  that  bound  him  to 
life.  He  had  not  the  consolation  of  dying  in 
the  arms  of  his  friends  or  his  loving  mother ; 
no  friendly  counsel,  no  loving  help,  lightened 
the  pain  of  his  death-agony :  forsaken  by  too 
timid  friends,  surrounded  by  an  unfeeling  mob, 
mocked  by  revengeful  enemies,  he  died  with- 
out sympathy,  without  consolation,  without 
love  or  help,  so  that  he  cried  out  from  the 
depth  of  his  soul,  "  My  God,  my  God,  why 
hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  "  And  how  it  must 
have  heightened  his  sorrow,  and  embittered  his 
last  hour,  to  have  left  his  mother,  whose  joy 
he  was,  all  unconsoled  behind;  to  have  for- 
saken his  friends  and  disciples,  who  needed 
him  still  so  sorely  ! 


The  Soldiers  Death  in  Battle.        101 

Look  now  to  the  victims  of  war  :  their  death 
is  like  the  death  of  Jesus.  They,  too,  do  not 
die  quietly  in  their  beds,  with  strength  gradu- 
ally failing ;  but  violently  does  the  sword  or 
the  ball  rend  the  firm  threads  of  their  blooming 
life.  They,  too,  often  shed  their  blood  in 
wounds  that  let  the  bitter  cup  of  their  death 
empty  itself  drop  by  drop  :  they,  too,  die  far 
from  their  fatherland,  far  from  their  own  :  they 
too,  in  their  last  moments,  have  no  alleviation, 
no  consolation,  no  help :  they,  too,  in  their 
death-struggle,  are  not  seldom  exposed  to  the 
ill-treatment  and  cruelty  of  an  embittered 
enemy ;  and  often  leave  behind  friends,  who 
through  their  death  are  thrown  into  mourning, 
—  parents  to  whom  they  were  consolation  and 
joy,  wives  and  children  whose  protectors  they 
were  and  ought  to  have  been. 

And  Jesus  died  as  a  victim  to  human  pas- 
sions. It  is  well  known  that  a  part  of  the  Jews 
— Pharisees  and  Sadducees,  especially — hated 
the  Redeemer  bitterly,  because  he,  the  incor- 
ruptible and  undismayed  friend  of  truth  and 


102  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 


virtue,  disclosed  their  crimes  and  their  hypocrisy 
unsparingly ;  and  they  feared,  if  he  should  be 
recognized  as  the  Messiah,  to  lose  their  influ- 
ence over  the  people.  Thus  it  was  to  envy, 
ambition,  revenge,  and  other  such  passions, 
that  Jesus  died  a  victim.  And  is  it  otherwise 
with  soldiers  falling  in  battle?  Are  they  not 
victims  to  human  passions?  It  is  difficult  to 
find  a  reasonable  ground  for  plunging  mankind 
into  the  necessity  of  carrying  on  war.  It  is 
far  more  difficult  to  think  it  possible,  that  na- 
tions and  rulers,  on  either  side,  can  claim  to  lay 
the  causes  of  their  strife  upon  grounds  of  jus- 
tice and  equity,  if  they  would  only  listen  as 
willingly  to  the  voice  of  reason  as  to  the  voice 
of  passion.  It  is  the  passions  of  men  that  kin- 
dle war ;  and  this  terrible  evil  brings  its  burden 
especially  on  the  nation  whose  passions  have 
been  the  original  cause  of  the  war :  on  this 
nation  is  charged  the  guilt  of  all  the  blood  that 
is  shed,  and  all  the  victims  of  war  fall  as  vic- 
tims to  its  passions. 

Jesus  died,  too,  with  claims  upon  happiness 


The  Soldier's  Death  in  Battle.        103 


and  reward  all  unfulfilled.  Jesus,  our  Master, 
could  make  every  claim  to  the  fairest  joys  of 
life.  In  the  short  period  of  his  life,  he  had 
accomplished  much  that  was  good  and  great ; 
had  won  much  for  his  friends,  his  country,  and 
posterity  :  he  had  been  the  benefactor  of  many 
thousands ;  he  might,  had  he  lived  longer, 
have  been  their  benefactor  in  a  still  higher 
degree,  and  have  enlarged  his  circle  of  influ- 
ence over  his  whole  nation  and  other  nations, 
and  might  claim  all  the  fruit  that  the  blossoms 
of  a  noble  and  useful  life  promise  and  deserve. 
But  these  blossoms  withered  beneath  the  hand 
of  death ;  these  fruits,  the  cross  snatched  from 
him  ;  the  world  was  still  owing  him  his  life's 
deserts. 

So  is  it  with  the  greater  part  of  those  who 
fall  in  war.  There  are,  it  is  true,  some  unwor- 
thy ones  among  them,  for  whom  it  may  seem 
a  punishment  well  deserved  that  they  were  cut 
off  by  the  sword ;  but  the  greater  part  of  those 
who  fall  are  men  who  can  make  every  claim  to 
earthly  promise.     The  wide  field  of  life  still 


1 04  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

offers  to  them  many  a  garland  of  joy,  — quiet, 
enticing  happiness  in  the  bosom  of  domestic 
life  ;  the  peace  of  the  secure  citizen  :  the  whole 
expanse  of  permitted  joys,  full  of  beauty,  lies 
like  a  fair  meadow  spread  before  their  hopeful 
gaze.  Only  one  thing  separates  them  from  this 
longed-for  bliss  of  peaceful  life,  —  the  years 
which  they  have  consecrated  to  the  service  of 
arms,  to  the  defence  of  their  fatherland.  But 
that  peace,  towards  which  they  were  looking, 
is  not  to  be  theirs.  The  battle-cry  sounds ; 
the  angel  of  death  snatches  them  away ;  and, 
like  the  vanishing  image  of  a  dream,  the  hap- 
piness and  reward  of  life  fades  from  their 
fainting  eyes. 

I  have  said  enough  to  show,  that  the  dying 
Redeemer  resembles  in  many  respects  those 
who  die  as  innocent  victims  to  war. 

Let  us  now  gather  courage  by  considering 
this  resemblance  on  its  instructive  and  consol- 
ing side. 

We  can  see  that  Jesus,  though  he  died  in  the 
bloom  of  his  youth,  had  yet  reached  the  goal 


The  Soldier's  Death  in  Battle.        105 

of  his  earthly  life.  Great  was  the  day's  work 
that  the  Lord  was  to  accomplish,  greater  than 
was  ever  set  for  any  mortal  before  or  after  him. 
He  was  to  cause  the  light  of  divine  truth  to 
dawn  upon  those  who  walked  in  darkness,  and 
who  sat  in  the  shadow  of  death ;  to  destroy  the 
mastery  of  error  and  superstition,  of  sin  and 
folly  :  he  was  to  set  up  the  kingdom  of  truth, 
goodness,  and  hope  ;  and  to  carry  on  the  high 
work  of  the  redemption  of  the  human  race  and 
its  blessedness  for  ever.  A  great,  an  extraor- 
dinary work,  —  greater  than  it  would  appear 
possible  for  any  human  life  to  enter  upon  and 
accomplish.  And  yet  only  three  years  were 
granted  to  Jesus  for  its  vast  objects.  In  his 
thirtieth  year,  he  entered  upon  his  great  work  ; 
and,  in  his  thirty-third,  he  died  upon  the 
cross.  Who  would  not  have  believed  that 
God  indeed  had  forsaken  him,  and  the  whole 
aim  of  his  life  had  been  frustrated  by  his 
early  death?  Yet  this  was  not  the  case. 
Though  he  died  in  the  bloom  of  his  years, 
yet  he  had  lived  long    enough   for  his    great 


106  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

work,    and   had    reached  the    aim    for  which 
he  lived  on  earth. 

So,  too,  the  soldier,  though  he  is  snatched 
away  in  the  fulness  of  his  years,  may  have 
reached  the  aim  of  his  earthly  life.  For  what 
is  the  aim  for  which  mortals  are  born?  What 
is  the  prize  for  which  they  strive  as  this  life's 
booty?  It  is  not  merely  to  live,  and  to  live  so 
long  that  the  body  outlives  itself,  and  of  itself 
decays  and  crumbles  away.  Neither  is  it  that 
we  run  through  a  certain  course  of  changes ; 
that  we  all  become  men,  fathers  of  families, 
and  aged  gray-beards.  For  to  have  grown 
old  means  not  to  have  lived ;  else  would  the 
existence  of  dead  rocks,  that  have  seen  centu- 
ries pass  by,  appear  preferable  to  the  soul- 
inspired  drama  of  human  life.  Neither  can  it 
be  the  aim  of  our  earthly  existence  to  drink  in 
pleasures,  and  the  fulness  of  our  desires, 
though  many  would  willingly  persuade  us  so. 
For  it  is  not  the  desire  and  the  joys  of  wanton 
pleasure  that  unfold  the  rich  powers  of  the 
human  soul,  or  form   them,  and   bring  them 


The  Soldier's  Death  in  Battle.        107 

nearer  to  completion.  It  is  only  too  apparent, 
that  the  Creator  of  this  earth  we  inhabit  made 
it  not  merely  for  a  scene  of  joy,  but  rather 
for  discipline  and  improvement ;  and  there- 
fore he  made  it  a  theatre  of  many  sorrows 
and  struggles.  This  only  can  we  acknowledge 
as  the  highest  aim  of  our  earthly  life,  to  per- 
fect ourselves,  to  prepare  and  discipline  our 
souls  for  a  more  complete  existence.  With 
this  aim  did  the  Son  of  God  come  upon  earth ; 
for  this  he  died  upon  the  cross. 

But,  dear  friends,  to  reach  this  object  of  our 
earthly  life,  must  we  wait  for  manhood?  must 
we  grow  gray?  The  wise  man  rightly  says, 
"  Honorable  age  is  not  that  which  standeth  in 
the  length  of  time,  nor  that  is  measured  by  the 
number  of  years.  But  wisdom  is  the  gray 
hair  unto  men,  and  an  unspotted  life  is  old 
age." 

It  is  true  the  wisdom  of  the  gray-beard 
may  be  riper,  his  virtue  firmer,  his  power  of 
overcoming  the  world  and  living  to  God 
stronger.     But  the  youth  who  is  cut  off  by  the 


108  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

sword  slumbers  not ;  he  is  active  in  a  higher 
field  of  life ;  he  will  there,  perhaps,  stride  for- 
wards more  speedily  to  perfection  than  would 
have  been  possible  for  him  here.  He  has, 
by  his  early  death,  lost  nothing  in  this  incom- 
plete world  that  he  will  not  find  in  the  fields 
of  immortality. 

But  is  it  not  always  to  be  deplored,  that  the 
falling  soldier,  though  he  may  have  fulfilled 
the  purpose  of  his  life,  must  yet  bleed  as  a  vic- 
tim to  human  passions? 

Jesus,  our  Lord,  bled  as  sacrifice  to  human 
passions,  but  in  appearance  only.  He  died  in 
reality  in  consequence  of  God's  unrecognized 
beneficent  designs.  The  nearest  cause  of  his 
death  was,  it  is  true,  no  other  than  the  hatred 
and  revenge  of  his  enemies, — the  result  of 
human  passions  ;  but  these  passions  were 
blind  instruments  in  the  hands  of  God.  For, 
according  to  the  decree  of  the  Heavenly 
Father,  Jesus  was  to  die  this  death  ;  by  this,  he 
was  to  fulfil  the  holy  work  of  redemption,  and 
found    a   reconciliation   by   which  we    should 


The  Soldier's  Death  in  Battle.        109 

become  heirs  of  a  new  life  and  eternal  blessed- 
ness. He  seems  to  have  bled  on  the  cross  only 
from  the  hatred  of  his  enemies  ;  but  he  died  ac- 
cording to  the  holy  decrees  of  God.  So,  too, 
fall  the  soldiers  in  battle.  It  is  true  the  human 
passions,  that  light  up  such  destructive  wars, 
were  the  first  cause  of  their  death ;  but  even 
these  passions  stood  at  the  service  of  Divine 
Providence.  It  is  the  decree  of  Divine  Wisdom, 
that  most  of  what  is  good  on  earth  must  spring 
from  destruction  and  dissolution.  As  in  nature, 
so  in  the  world  of  man.  Millions  of  plants 
and  animals  must  turn  to  dust  in  order  to  form 
the  fruitful  soil  which  covers  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  and  nourishes  countless  millions  of  liv- 
ing beings.  Storms  and  tempests  must  arise, 
in  order  to  render  the  air  pure,  healthy,  and 
fruitful.  The  earth  must  be  wounded  and 
torn,  and  all  the  grass  and  weeds  must  be 
rooted  from  it,  in  order  that  the  field  may  be 
covered  with  the  blessing  of  grain.  So  is  it, 
my  friends,  with  the  world  of  humanity.  We 
must  labor,  —  with  all   our  strength  must  we 


no  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

labor  for  life,  and  its  every  enjoyment.  Pain 
and  loss,  even  agony,  it  is  that  makes  us  wise. 
Even  the  Son  of  God  could  open  the  way  for 
us  to  eternal  happiness  only  through  suffering. 
Destruction,  war,  and  other  great  calamities, 
are  what  give  new  life  to  mankind,  and  with 
their  violent  throbs  better  the  condition  of  the 
world.  Even  the  great  battle  of  a  nation,  car- 
ried on  for  many  years,  is  a  period  when  man- 
kind passes  through  great  sufferings  to  a  new 
majesty,  even  if  our  eyes  are  too  short-sighted 
to  look  into  the  purposes  of  Providence,  and 
our  life  too  transient  to  see  them  carried  out. 
But  for  these  purposes,  and  not  for  the  passions 
of  men,  did  all  those  thousands  bleed  whom 
the  sword  of  war  has  mowed  to  earth  ;  for  these 
purposes  will  all  those  bleed  whom  war  must 
snatch  away  in  the  future.  They  serve  no 
human  leader  but  the  Lord  of  all  Lords  and 
the  King  of  all  Kings.  They  fall,  not  before 
the  decrees  of  earth,  but  those  of  heaven. 

But  you  will  say,  brethren,  how  little  conso- 
lation is  there  in  this  for  them,  for  us,  that  just 


The  Soldier's  Death  in  Battle.        in 

they  must  be  the  victims  ;  that  these  must  die  so 
painful  a  death,  while  their  brothers  will  pass 
away  quietly  in  their  beds,  nursed  lovingly  and 
carefully ;  that  they  must  see  all  their  claims 
to  the  joy  of  life  destroyed,  while  their  brothers 
taste  peacefully  all  the  happiness  of  life  !  What 
have  these  done,  that  they  must  sacrifice  the 
happiness  of  their  life  for  the  good  of  posterity  ? 
What  can  make  amends  to  them  for  such  a  sac- 
rifice? What  can  give  our  wounded  hearts 
balsam  and  consolation? 

Let  us  look  to  the  Lord,  the  Beginner  and 
the  Finisher  of  our  faith.  He  both  knew  the 
joy,  and  suffered  the  cross ;  he  died  a  sad, 
painful  death ;  he  died  with  claims  unfulfilled, 
—  claims  to  the  happiness  and  the  joy  of  life. 

Again  :  the  Divine  Providence  was  able  to 
make  him  complete  amends.  "Through  suffer- 
ing," so  he  himself  said  to  his  friends,  after  his 
resurrection,  "through  suffering  must  the  Son 
of  God  pass  on  to  his  glory."  For  all  that  he 
suffered,  for  all  that  he  lacked,  did  his  Father 
reward  him  beyond  measure.     For  God  awak- 


H2  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

ened  him  from  the  dead,  and  raised  him  to 
heaven  :  He  has  given  him  a  name  that  is  above 
all  names,  and  has  set  him  to  be  Ruler  and 
Judge  of  his  redeemed,  —  over  the  living  and 
the  dead.  Those,  too,  who,  in  the  counsels  of 
God,  have  lost  their  lives  in  bloody  warfare,  the 
goodness  of  the  Heavenly  Father  will  richly 
reward.  It  is  true,  there  may  be  among  them 
those  who  are  unworthy  and  stained  with  crime, 
who  may  look  upon  it  as  a  righteous  punish- 
ment, if  they  are  cut  off  by  the  sword.  But  the 
greater  number  of  these  fallen  warriors  have 
not  deserved  the  suffering  and  agony,  and  the 
early,  bloody  death  they  have  met  with.  But 
God  will  reward  them  as  He  rewarded  Jesus  in 
his  sufferings.  For  their  agony  in  the  last 
moment  of  their  life,  for  their  unfulfilled  claims 
upon  this  life,  they  will  find  hereafter  a  rich 
reparation.  For,  "if  we  die  with  Jesus,  so 
shall  we  live  with  him  ;  if  we  suffer,  then  shall 
we  reign  with  him."  *  Yes,  the  immeasurable 
universe  of  that  God  who  is  love  is   not  too 

*  2  Tim.  ii.  u,  12. 


The  Soldier's  Death  in  Battle,        113 

poor  to  make  up  to  us  a  thousand  fold  for  every 
joy  that  is  snatched  from  us  here,  in  the  dwell- 
ings of  the  immortal ;  his  eternity  is  not  too 
small  in  joys  to  make  amends  for  the  suffer- 
ings of  a  few  moments  of  terror.  For  no  eye 
hath  seen,  nor  hath  ear  heard,  nor  hath  it  en- 
tered into  the  heart  of  man  to  conceive,  what 
God  hath  prepared  for  those  who  love  him, 
when  He  leads  them  out  from  the  storms  of  this 
life  into  eternal  peace. 

Then  let  the  concealed  future  bring  sorrows 
and  anguish  and  death  :  we  will  not  be  terri- 
fied. Then,  though  death  may  conquer  in  the 
dark  valleys  of  earth,  and  demand  its  youthful 
and  its  bloody  victims ;  though  the  scourge  of 
war  sweep  devastatingly  over  thousands  of  lives, 
let  us  not  be  terrified,  let  us  not  murmur  !  For 
our  lives  lie  in  thy  hands,  King  of  Kings  and 
Lord  of  Lords.  To  thee  do  all  creatures  live 
and  die.  Nothing  can  separate  us  from  thee 
and  thy  kingdom.  Thou  hast  prepared  for  us, 
thy  redeemed,  after  the  hard  struggle  of  this 
life,  a  dwelling  of  pure  joy  in  the  fields  of 
8 


114  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

eternal  peace.  Then  shall  we,  with  Jesus,  our 
friend,  rest  from  the  bitter  struggle  that  rent 
soul  from  body.  Then  will  the  remembrance 
of  all  the  terrors  of  this  life  seem  like  a  heavy 
dream,  out  of  which  we  shall  wake  to  blessed- 
ness ;  and,  overwhelmed  with  joy,  we  shall 
acknowledge  in  our  stammering  words  what 
the  song  of  praise  from  the  just  made  perfect 
echoes  out  through  heaven,  "Lord,  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  past  time  are  not  worthy  to  be  com- 
pared with  the  glory  beyond  measure  that  is 
revealed  in  us." 


A  CHILD'S   DEATH. 


r  I  ^HOU  touchest  us  lightly,  O  God !  in  our  grief; 
But  how  rough  is  thy  touch  in  our  prosperous 
hours ! 
All  was  bright ;   but  thou  earnest,  so  dreadful  and 

brief, 
Like  a  thunder-bolt  falling  in  gardens  of  flowers. 

My  children  !  my  children  !  they  clustered  all  round 

me, 
Like  a   rampart  which  sorrow  could  never  break 

through ; 
Each  change  in  their  beautiful  lives  only  bound  me 
In  a  spell  of  delight  which  no  care  could  undo. 


n6  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

But  the  eldest,  O  Father !  how  glorious  he  was, 
With  the  soul  looking  out  through  his  fountain-like 

eyes ! 
Thou  lovest  Thy  Sole-born ;  and  had  I  not  cause 
The  treasure  thou  gavest  me,  Father,  to  prize  ? 

But  the  lily-bed  lies  beaten  down  by  the  rain, 
And  the  tallest  has  gone  from  the  place  where  he 

grew,  — 
My  tallest !  my  fairest !     Oh,  let  me  complain  ! 
For   all    life    is   unroofed,    and   the   tempests   beat 

through. 

I  murmur  not,  Father  :  my  will  is  with  thee  ; 
I  knew  at  the  first  that  my  darling  was  thine. 
Hadst  thou  taken  him  earlier,  O  Father  !  —  but  see  ! 
Thou  hadst  left  him  so  long,  that  I  dreamed  he  was 
mine. 

Thou  hast  taken  the  fairest ;  he  was  fairest  to  me. 
Thou  hast  taken  the  fairest ;  'tis  always  thy  way. 
Thou   hast  taken  the  dearest ;    was  he  dearest  to 

thee? 
Thou  art  welcome,  thrice  welcome ;  —  yet  woe  is 

the  day ! 


A   Child's  Death,  117 

Thou  hast  honored  my  child  by  the  speed  of  thy 

choice ; 
Thou  hast  crowned  him  with  glory,  o'erwhelmed 

him  with  mirth : 
He   sings  up  in  heaven  with  his  sweet  sounding 

voice, 
While  I,  a  saint's  mother,  am  weeping  on  earth. 

Yet  oh  for  that  voice  which  is  thrilling   through 

heaven, 
One  moment  my  ears  with  its  music  to  slake  ! 
Oh,  no  !  not  for  worlds  would  I  have  him  regiven, 
Yet  I  long  to  have  back  what  I  would  not  retake. 

I  grudge  him,  and  grudge  him  not.     Father,  thou 

knowest 
The  foolish  confessions  of  innocent  sorrow : 
It  is  thus,  in  thy  husbandry,  Saviour,  thou  sowest 
The  grief  of  to-day  for  the  grace  of  to-morrow. 

Thou    art   blooming   in   heaven,  my  blossom,  my 

pride ; 
And  thy  beauty  makes  Jesus  and  Mary  more  glad  : 
Saints'  mothers  have  sung  when  their  eldest-born 

died, 
Oh  why,  my  own  saint,  is  thy  mother  so  sad? 


n8  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

Go,  go  with  thy  God,  with  thy  Saviour,  my  child ! 
Thou  art  His,  I  am  His,  and  thy  sisters  are  His ; 
But  to-day  thy  fond  mother  with  sorrow  is  wild, 
To  think  that  her  son  is  an  angel  in  bliss  ! 

Oh !  forgive  me,  dear  Saviour,  on  heaven's  bright 

shore, 
Should  I  still  in  my  child  find  a  separate  joy ! 
While  I  lie  in  the  light  of  thy  face  evermore, 
May  I  think  heaven  brighter,  because  of  my  boy  ! 

F.  W.  Faber. 


THE   DISCIPLINE    OF    USELESSNESS, 


TN  the  re-action  of  the  Christianity  of  our  day, 
*■  of  muscular  Christianity,  our  prayers,  all 
our  books  of  devotion,  share  in  the  earnest  ap- 
peal to  active  duties.  The  poor  invalid,  with 
broken  heart,  day  after  day  listens  to  the  ex- 
hortations to  work  by  way  of  prayer  ;  sees  with 
a  sigh  how  the  idler  is  despised,  and  what  a 
burden  the  shiftless  and  lazy  are  upon  society. 
There  is  very  little  room  for  the  weak  and  the 
useless  in  our  world  :  even  the  books  that  only 
the  invalids  have  time  to  read,  preach  the 
economies  of  nature  and  the  vice  of  idleness. 


120  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

This  literature  is  far  more  healthy  indeed 
for  the  sick  and  the  feeble  than  weak  books 
framed  only  for  them.  The  inspiring  breezes  of 
activity  are  as  necessary  for  them  as  for  the 
busy  workers.  Such  strengthening  doses  can 
rouse  from  listlessness,  and  help  the  sick  man 
to  cure  himself.  Religion  is  not  merely  a 
binding  up  of  the  soul ;  but  it  must  bind  up  the 
body  too,  and  is  its  wisest  physician.  The 
fresh  blast  of  the  spring  air  must  be  let  into 
the  sick  room,  and  must  blow  out  the  dust 
from  the  curtains,  and  purify  the  dead  atmos- 
phere. And  the  freshness  of  active  life  must 
come  in.  The  sick  life  and  the  outside  life 
must  not  be  separated.  The  one  is  as  much 
<r  a  life  "  as  the  other  ;  and  each  needs  the  other. 

Only  in  our  sick  rooms,  in  acknowledging 
this  glory  of  usefulness,  we  must  remember 
that  there  are  consolations  even  in  uselessness. 
These  are  very  hard  for  the  weak  heart  of  the 
invalid  to  find.  "The  use  of  uselessness,"  — 
can  such  a  thing  be  ? 

And  what  would  become  of  us,  if  such  a 


The  Discipline  of  Uselessness.        121 

thing  could  not  be?  What  does  the  bravest 
and  the  strongest  accomplish  in  comparison 
with  his  desires?  Can  the  most  active  bene- 
factor look  back  with  satisfaction  on  his  work? 
If  he  could,  how  despicable  would  he  be ! 
What  are  our  human  efforts  to  create  happi- 
piness,  all  put  together,  in  comparison  with  the 
joy  that  a  blade  of  grass  gives?  Indeed,  how 
can  we  ever  balance  use  and  uselessness? 
How  can  we  ever  judge  a  life  ?  How  can  we 
tell,  with  our  shortness  of  sight,  what  are  de- 
feats and  what  are  victories  ?  Even  Christ 
said,  "  It  is  finished,"  in  the  hour  from  which 
Christianity  took  its  date.  The  few  hours  of 
a  little  child's  life,  —  how  precious  they  are  to 
us  !  Would  we  change  them  for  one  of  the 
stars  ? 

What  have  we  ever  done  ourselves  in  the 
world?  Is  it  so  very  much  missed?  Have  we 
a  right  to  complain  that  our  handful  of  the 
gleaning  has  dropped  out  of  the  sheaf  unno- 
ticed? 

These  questionings  are  not  the  consolation  I 


122  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

would  bring  forward.  It  would  be  no  consola- 
tion in  our  uselessness  to  dwell  upon  all  the 
failures  in  the  world,  nor  on  our  own  pettiness. 
But  such  questionings  lead  us  to  put  a  true  test 
to  the  activity  of  life,  and  show  us  how  it  is 
that  mere  doing  is  not  living.     But  what  is  ? 

To  us  the  trouble  is,  that  our  idle  life  looks 
very  easy.  The  hard  workers  would  like 
sometimes  to  change  with  us.  They  would  be 
so  glad  of  a  few  hours'  rest,  —  a  few  hours. 
But  they  gladly  get  up  from  it,  when  any  plea- 
sure or  duty  calls,  while  we  must  stay.  By 
this  time,  we  have  learned  to  know  we  would 
willingly  decline  the  pleasure :  such  sweets 
look  cloying  to  us  now ;  but  the  struggle  is  in 
giving  up  help  for  others,  —  hours  of  work  at 
the  Sanitary  Commission  or  the  hospital,  and 
all  the  while  seeing  the  workers  wearing  them- 
selves out,  day  after  day,  with  too  much  work, 
and  to  know  that  we  cannot  come  to  the  res- 
cue, that  we  are  not  even  the  forlorn  hope, 
that  we  have  no  strength  to  offer,  —  shall 
never  have. 


The  Discipline  of  Uselessness.         123 

We  must  see  the  work  we  might  have  done, 
left  undone.  What  is  worse,  we  must  see 
others  take  upon  themselves  our  work,  when 
they  have  quite  as  much  of  their  own  as  they 
ought  to  bear.  We  grow  very  sharp-sighted 
in  these  unoccupied  hours,  and  can  see  what  is 
needed  here  and  there,  and  have  not  earned 
the  right  to  mend  the  work.  We  have  an  out- 
side view  of  life,  as  a  bystander  looks  upon 
a  game  of  chess ;  but  we  cannot  even  move  a 
pawn. 

Besides  all  this,  what  is  worse  still,  our  help- 
lessness adds  to  the  work  of  the  world.  The 
care  of  us  makes  one  more  care.  Ah  !  though 
it  may  look  easy,  all  this  is  very  hard  to  bear. 
It  is  hard  when  we  misconceive  our  powers, 
and  believe,  if  we  could  only  have  health,  we 
might  have  done  much  to  help  the  world.  It 
is  harder  in  our  discouraged  hours,  when  we 
believe  that  we  should  never  have  been  of  any 
use,  sick  or  well ;  and  that  we  were  born  to  be 
a  clog  and  weight,  —  to  be  in  everybody's 
way. 


124  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

If  we  could  only  stop  at  the  first  part  of  this 
complaint,  "born  to  be  a  clog,"  that  would 
allow  that  we  were  born  to  be  something. 
The  brake  on  the  cars,  the  clog  on  the  coach 
going  down  hill,  are  as  necessary  as  the  horses 
and  the  steam  engine.  The  train  has  to  stop 
now  and  then  :  it  is  dangerous  for  the  carriage 
to  go  down  hill  too  fast.  So  a  nation  needs  a 
war  when  it  is  too  prosperous  ;  and  homes  that 
are  likely  to  grow  too  gay  and  frivolous  can 
afford  the  few  serious  thoughts  that  a  sick  room 
suggests. 

This  thought  should  serve  to  create  a  respect 
from  others  towards  those  who  are  suffering 
from  sickness  ;  but  it  does  not  help  the  "  clogs  " 
and  the  "brakes"  themselves.  It  would  add 
self-conceit  to  the  other  trials  that  their  friends 
must  suffer  through  them,  to  dwell  upon  any 
advantages  gained  from  their  sickness  and 
weakness ;  and  they  are  the  very  last  to  be 
able  to  perceive  them,  and  surely  should  be  the 
very  last  to  get  any  consolation  from  being  the 
clogs  for  forming  the  bitter  element  in  life. 


The  Discipline  of  Uselessness.        125 

No  :  it  is  only  in  bravely  acknowledging  our 
utter  uselessness  that  we  can  find  our  help.  It 
is  here  that  shines  in  the  broad  ray  of  comfort. 
Allow  that  we  have  nothing  to  give,  in  return, 
that  we  are  utterly  dependent,  and  we  suddenly 
discover  what  is  the  joy  of  receiving.  We 
have  learned  what  we  never  knew  before,  — 
what  friendship  is,  what  love  is.  We  have  the 
power  of  accepting  gladly.  These  are  mere 
words  to  those  who  have  never  known  the  de- 
pression there  is  in  this  feeling  of  absolute 
physical  dependence.  Every  one  has  had 
some  little  taste  of  the  bitterness  of  depend- 
ence, and  shrinks  from  it.  But  the  invalid  ex- 
periences it  day  after  day  ;  too  feeble  to  move  ; 
hands  too  weak  for  work ;  eyes  aching  so  that 
it  is  impossible  to  read,  or  even  to  move  them 
to  look  in  the  face  of  a  friend ;  head  too  con- 
fused for  thought ;  the  whole  body  too  full  of 
pain  for  rest.  One  must  be  many  days  and 
weeks  or  years  in  such  a  state  to  learn  what  is 
the  blessedness  of  friends,  to  appreciate  their 
sympathy  and  forbearance  in  our  weakness, 


126  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

their  cheerfulness  and  their  thoughtfulness. 
Blessed  as  it  is  to  give,  we  have  learned  the 
less  noble,  less  elevating  blessedness  of  receiv- 
ing. Because  it  is  less  elevating,  it  is  more  dif- 
ficult to  learn  and  to  acknowledge.  Only  a 
long  dependence  on  the  goodness  of  others  can 
teach  it.  Our  poor,  discouraged  self-respect 
comes  in  to  help  us.  "Ah  !  we  must  indeed  be 
something  to  them,  if  they  can  love  us  so." 

I  do  not  mean  that  it  is  only  in  becoming 
sick  and  helpless  that  we  find  out  our  friends  : 
I  mean  that  in  our  sickness  and  helplessness 
we  find  one  feature  in  this  love  of  our  friends, 
that  we  never  can  find  otherwise.  It  is  the 
giving  and  returning  that  makes  the  delight  in 
most  friendship,  and  that  keeps  up  the  activity 
of  our  love.  Unconsciously,  without  acknowl- 
edging it,  we  make  account  of  what  we  receive 
and  what  we  give,  and  are  anxious  to  return 
as  fast  as  we  accept.     This  is  our  healthy  life. 

In  our  invalid  days,  we  learn  how  to  receive  ; 
and  in  this  we  need  to  be  generous.  It  re- 
quires some  generosity  to  be  willing  to  receive  ; 


The  Discipline  of  Uselessness.        127 

and,  when  we  have  learned  to  do  it,  we  find  in 
the  very  bottom  of  the  cup,  in  the  bitterest 
dregs  we  have  to  drink,  this  one  compensation, 
—  the  knowledge  of  this  sacrificing  love  of  our 
friends. 

Of  this  it  might  be  useless  to  speak ;  for 
those  who  are  well,  and  are  able  to  pay  their 
own  debts  in  friendship,  ought  not  to  be  able  to 
understand  it.  But  it  is  in  this  submission,  with 
the  support  that  comes  in  submitting,  that  we 
get  a  glimpse  of  one  of  the  positions  in  which 
we  stand  towards  God. 

Some  of  the  old  books  are  fond  of  dwelling 
upon  our  insignificance  in  God's  creation,  that 
He  asks  nothing  of  us,  while  we  need  all 
things  from  him ;  words  which,  if  often  used 
in  our  time,  have  an  air  of  false  humility. 
They  are  depressing  and  discouraging  to  the 
Christian  soldier.  It  is  a  sort  of  humility  that 
the  veriest  weed  in  a  garden-patch  would  not 
think  of  wearing. 

A  true  humility  must  have  nothing  to  do 
with  abjectness.     The  guest  takes  the  lowest 


128  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

place,  waiting  to  be  called  to  a  higher.  If  we 
were  indeed  worms,  born  only  to  grovel  on  the 
ground,  there  would  be  no  humility  in  placing 
ourselves  low  as  the  ground.  We  must  volun- 
tarily cast  ourselves  there  from  a  greater  height. 
It  would  have  been  no  offering  of  humility,  if 
it  had  not  been  a  rich  velvet  cloak  that  Raleigh 
flung  down  before  the  queen.  One  must  first 
be  proud,  in  order  to  be  able  to  be  humble. 

We  need  not  debase  the  offering  we  make  of 
ourselves  to  God  in  our  own  esteem,  particu- 
larly as  He  made  us,  and  not  we  ourselves. 

Yet  it  would  be  better  for  us,  if  we  could 
more  often  be  conscious  of  our  dependence 
upon  a  Higher  Being.  And  just  as  long  sick- 
ness, with  a  long  period  of  weakness,  wrings 
from  us  the  confession,  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to 
be  so  served  as  we  are  by  the  love  of  our 
friends,  it  teaches  us,  at  the  same  time,  our  de- 
pendence, and  our  pleasure  in  dependence 
upon  God.  We  begin  to  see  more  clearly  that 
the  ordering  of  things  does  lie  in  his  hand ; 
that  we  need  not  make  ourselves  uneasy  be- 


The  Discipline  of  Uselessness.        129 

cause  our  day's  work  in  the  world  has  failed. 
There  are  other  workmen ;  if  not,  there  is 
Himself. 

This  sort  of  submission  is  the  true  M  waiting 
upon  God,"  and  gives  us  an  idea  of  the  true 
quality  of  patience.  A  poor,  querulous,  waver- 
ing patience,  it  may  look  to  be  on  the  outside ; 
but  it  must  needs  be  wavering.  It  finds  its 
support  only  in  an  utter,  hourly  dependence 
upon  God ;  and  the  heart  is  constantly  rebel- 
ling. If  the  struggle  for  this  patience  were 
not  a  constant  one,  if  by  one  effort  it  could  be 
made  certain,  it  would  be  only  a  dull  endur- 
ance, not  patience  gained.  It  is  for  these 
stormy  hours  of  such  lonely  battle  that  I  have 
found  one  prayer  helpful. 

"  My  God,  give  me  strength,  if  it  is  thy  will ; 
if  not,  patience.  Not  -patience,  if  it  is  not  thy 
will:' 


WORDS  OF  CHRIST,  DAVID,  AND  PAUL. 


HAVE  faith  in  God.  Verily  I  say  unto 
you,  if  ye  have  faith  and  doubt  not,  ye 
shall  not  only  do  this  which  is  done  to  the  fig- 
tree,  but  also,  if  ye  shall  say  unto  this  moun- 
tain, Be  thou  removed,  and  be  thou  cast  into 
the  sea,  it  shall  be  done.  And  all  things  what- 
soever ye  shall  ask  in  prayer,  believing,  ye 
shall  receive.  Whosoever  shall  not  doubt  in 
his  heart,  but  shall  believe  that  those  things 
which  he  saith  shall  come  to  pass,  he  shall 
have  whatever  he  saith.  Therefore  I  say  unto 
you,  what  things  soever  ye   desire  when  ye 


Words  of  Christ,  David,  and  Paul.     131 

pray,  believe  that  ye  receive  them,  and  ye  shall 
have  them. 

My  soul,  wait  thou  only  upon  God ;  for  my 
expectation  is  from  him.  He  only  is  my  rock 
and  my  salvation :  He  is  my  defence ;  I  shall 
not  be  moved.  In  God  is  my  salvation  and  my 
glory  :  the  rock  of  my  strength  and  my  refuge 
is  in  God. 

If  we  hope  for  that  we  see  not,  then  do  we 
with  patience  wait  for  it. 


BE   STRONG. 


BE  strong  to  hope,  O  Heart ! 
Though  day  is  bright, 
The  stars  can  only  shine 

In  the  dark  night. 
Be  strong,  O  heart  of  mine  ! 
Look  towards  the  light. 

Be  strong  to  bear,  O  Heart ! 

Nothing  is  vain  : 
Strive  not ;  for  life  is  care, 

And  God  sends  pain. 
Heaven  is  above,  and  there 

Rest  will  remain. 

Be  strong  to  love,  O  Heart ! 

Love  knows  not  wrong : 
Didst  thou  love  —  creatures  even, 

Life  were  not  long  ; 
Didst  thou  love  God  in  Heaven, 

Thou  wouldst  be  strong. 

A.  A.  Proctor. 


ACQUAINTED  WITH   GRIEF. 


TT  is  no  wonder  that  we  apply  these  words  to 
-"-  Christ;  for  in  this  we  find  our  closest 
brotherhood.  He  was  a  man  of  sorrows.  He 
could  pray  that  the  bitter  cup  might  pass  from 
Him,  so  near  was  He  to  the  mortal  agony.  Yet 
He  could  ask  it  only  if  it  were  God's  will,  so 
near  was  He  to  the  Divine  comfort.  With  His 
grief,  let  us  take  His  courage ;  in  His  loneli- 
ness, let  us  find  with  Him  the  Father. 


Let  me  be  weak  a  little,  in  order  to  be  strong 
much,  so  that  I  may  dry  up  my  tears  quickly, 
and  proceed  to  serve  thee  better,  —  even  if  it 
be  with  my  patience  only. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


PAST  SUFFERING. 


TT  is  a  good  thing  to  think  of,  that  we  are 
•"r  better  prepared  to  judge  our  troubles  when 
they  are  passed  than  while  their  stress  is  on 
us.  If  our  troubles  slay  us,  there  needs  proof 
that  we  shall  not  immediately  rejoice  therefor ; 
and,  if  we  survive  them,  there  are  always  con- 
siderations which  make  us  not  sorry  to  have 
suffered.  Who  so  proud  as  he  that  has  suf- 
fered? The  least  complaint  of  another  pro- 
vokes his  self-conceit.  No  soldier  was  ever 
ashamed  of  his  scars.  No  athlete  was  ever 
sorry  for  the  care  and  exertion  which  his  high 


Past  Suffering.  135 

condition  cost  him.  And  so  the  exercise  of 
pain  and  care  and  sorrow,  which  develop  the 
intellectual  gladiator,  and  make  him  strong  by 
experience  and  insight,  is  never  remembered 
but  with  pride  and  pleasure.  A  thousand  years 
of  suffering  are  but  as  yesterday  when  it  is 
past ;  but  the  present  pride  of  a  lofty  soul  sends 
light  and  glory  over  all  the  future. 

Optimism. 


SEEN  AND   UNSEEN. 


r  I  ^HE  wind  ahead,  the  billows  high, 

A  whited  wave,  but  sable  sky  ; 
And  many  a  league  of  tossing  sea, 
Between  the  hearts  I  love  and  me. 

The  wind  ahead  !  day  after  day 
These  weary  words  the  sailors  say ; 
To  weeks  the  days  are  lengthened  now, 
Still  mounts  the  surge  to  meet  our  prow. 

Through  longing  day  and  lingering  night, 
I  still  accuse  Time's  lagging  flight, 
Or  gaze  out  o'er  the  envious  sea 
That  keeps  the  hearts  I  love  from  me. 


Seen  and  Unseen.  137 

Yet,  ah  !  how  shallow  is  all  grief! 
How  instant  is  the  deep  relief! 
And  what  a  hypocrite  am  I 
To  feign  forlorn,  to  'plain  and  sigh  ! 

The  wind  ahead  ?     The  wind  is  free  ! 
For  evermore  it  favoreth  me  ; 
To  shores  of  God  still  blowing  fair, 
O'er  seas  of  God  my  bark  doth  bear. 

This  surging  brine,  I  do  not  sail, 
This  blast  adverse  is  not  my  gale  ; 
'Tis  here  I  only  seem  to  be, 
But  really  sail  another  sea,  — 

Another  sea,  pure  sky  its  waves, 
Whose  beauty  hides  no  yawning  graves  ; 
A  sea  all  haven,  whereupon 
No  helpless  bark  to  wreck  hath  gone. 

The  winds  that  o'er  my  ocean  run 
Reach  through  all  worlds  beyond  the  sun  ; 
Through  life  and  death,  thro'  fate,  through  time, 
Grand  breaths  of  God,  they  sweep  sublime. 


138  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

Eternal  trades,  they  cannot  veer, 
And,  blowing,  teach  us  how  to  steer  ; 
And  well  for  him  whose  joy,  whose  care, 
Is  but  to  keep  before  them  fair. 

O  thou  God's  mariner,  heart  of  mine  ! 
Spread  canvas  to  the  airs  divine  ; 
Spread  sail,  and  let  thy  Fortune  be 
Forgotten  in  thy  Destiny. 

For  Destiny  pursues  us  well, 

By  sea,  by  land,  through  heaven  or  hell ; 

It  suffers  Death  alone  to  die, 

Bids  Life  all  change  and  chance  defy. 

Would  earth's  dark  ocean  suck  thee  down  ? 
Earth's  ocean,  thou,  O  Life  !  shalt  drown  ; 
Shalt  flood  it  with  thy  finer  wave, 
And,  sepulchred,  entomb  thy  grave. 

Life  loveth  life  and  good  ;  then  trust : 
What  most  the  spirit  would,  it  must. 
Deep  wishes  in  the  heart  that  be, 
Are  blossoms  of  necessity. 


Seen  and  Unseen.  139 

A  thread  of  Law  runs  through  thy  prayer, 
Stronger  than  iron  cables  are  ; 
And  love,  and  longing  toward  her  goal, 
Are  pilots  sweet  to  guide  the  soul. 

So  Life  must  live,  and  Soul  must  sail, 
And  Unseen  over  Seen  prevail ; 
And  all  God's  argosies  come  to  shore, 
Let  ocean  smile  or  rage  and  roar. 

And  so,  'mid  storm  or  calm,  my  bark 
With  snowy  wake  still  nears  her  mark ; 
Cheerly  the  trades  of  being  blow, 
And  sweeping  down  the  wind  I  go. 

D.  A.  Wasson. 


THE  BURDEN  OF  LIFE, 


r  I  ^HERE  are  sad,  distrustful  moments,  when 
-*-  our  existence  seems  a  terrible  enigma, 
from  which  we  cannot  turn  away.  We  are 
waiting,  and  seem  to  hear  every  sand  of  life 
dropping.  The  idea  of  an  eternal  life  gives  us 
a  shudder ;  for  we  do  not  yet  know  what  we  are 
going  to  do  with  this.  We  are  conscious  of  a 
longing  for  something  higher  than  our  present 
selves,  and  find  within  us  only  the  same  means 
we  have  tried  to  work  with  over  and  over 
again.  We  have  got  tired  of  our  own  faults, 
and  yet  are  nourishing  somewhere  a  little  petty 


The  Burden  of  Life,  141 

self-conceit,  that  all  the  time  excuses  them  to 
us.  If  only  something  would  come  to  stir  us 
from  our  despondency ! 

There  are  times  when  it  seems  as  if  even  a 
sharp  sorrow  would  be  a  blessing,  to  rouse  us 
from  the  torpor  of  our  souls.  We  see  that 
others,  who  have  been  brought  near  an  actual 
suffering,  have  found  a  serenity  that  we  cannot 
understand.  I  have  often  heard  a  longing  ex- 
pressed, by  those  who  are  surrounded  with 
sunshine  and  placid  days,  for  some  event  to 
come,  something  to  happen  to  break  up  the 
monotony  of  life.  But  this  complaint  of  those 
who  live  only  on  the  excitements  of  life,  and 
find  a  disgust  in  the  tame  moments  that  must 
come  between  its  gay  hours,  is  sometimes 
uttered  by  those  who  are  more  serious.  The 
complaints,  perhaps,  come  from  a  similar 
cause.  There  has  been  a  time  of  excitement, 
and  now  there  is  a  time  of  flatness.  The 
energies  have  been  spent  in  a  great  work,  and 
now  follows  the  time  of  exhaustion. 

Whatever  the  cause,  the  dejection  is  none  the 


142  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

less  certain,  and  the  despondency  the  harder  to 
bear,  because  there  is  no  accountable  reason 
for  it.  Here  it  is,  something  to  be  struggled 
with,  —  the  burden  of  life. 

The  burden  is  the  heavier,  because  it  is 
thoroughly  selfish.  It  is  filled  with  a  self-dissat- 
isfaction, —  not  the  healthy  kind  that  rises 
from  a  true  humility,  but  the  grasping  kind, 
that  seeks  for  so  much,  it  is  forced  to  be  disap- 
pointed. If  we  could  only  forget  ourselves  for 
awhile  in  some  grand  duty  into  which  we  could 
fling  ourselves  ! 

But  God  leaves  us  sometimes  to  create  our 
own  fortunes.  To  some  He  has  given  great 
deficiencies,  that  they  are  forced  to  fill  up  for 
themselves  ;  and  in  this  way  have  built  up  their 
own  characters.  We  say  that  "circumstances" 
have  been  against  them.  On  the  contrary,  it 
is  their  circumstances  that  have  called  out  their 
energies,  and  have  made  them  what  they  are 
by  forcing  them  into  activity. 

Perhaps,  then,  those  are  most  the  creators  of 
their    fortunes   who    have    had   "every   wish 


The  Burden  of  Life,  143 

granted,"  as  we  say ;  who  have  lived  a  quiet, 
comfortable,  common-place  life,  without  any 
singular  event  to  call  out  a  singular  talent,  or 
any  shock  to  wake  up  an  unknown  power. 
They  must  create  an  object  for  themselves. 
They  do  not  have  to  work  to  earn  bread.  They 
have  no  great  responsibilities  of  wealth  to  at- 
tend to.  No  one  depends  upon  them  for  teach- 
ing ;  for  they  are  the  ones  who  have  always 
been  carefully  taught.  Their  time  is  always  at 
their  own  disposal ;  but,  alas  !  they  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  time.  All  is  so  well-ordered, 
there  is  nothing  left  to  order  for  themselves. 

These  it  is  who  must  show  an  unwonted 
strength,  if  they  create  a  career  for  themselves. 
Is  it  possible  ? 

With  God,  all  things  are  possible. 

Only,  is  not  to  take  God's  name  into  a  life 
that  is  only  trivial  and  insignificant  a  blas- 
phemy? By  a  great  sorrow,  one  may  indeed 
call  upon  God.  What  has  our  flat,  unprofita- 
ble life  to  do  with  the  Lord  of  the  worlds  ? 

And  here  we  reach  the  depths  of  the  thank- 


144  The  Service  of  Sorrow, 

lessness  of  our  hearts.  We  do  not  know  how 
to  draw  near  to  Him  in  thanksgiving,  though 
we  know  there  is  no  one  else  to  whom  we  can 
go  in  sorrow. 

This  thanklessness  is  a  part  of  the  apathy  of 
our  soul.  How  can  we  thank  Him  for  the  ex- 
istence that  brings  us  no  joy?  And  where 
shall  we  find  this  joy  in  life? 

"  In  the  midst  of  the  deep  sea  and  in  storm,  to 
lie  with  a  soul  full  of  sorrow,  —  that  is  truly  not  an 
unbearable  affliction.  There  is  struggle,  pressure, 
and  despair ;  there  we  can  console  ourselves  with 
the  thought,  '  If  I  can  bear  it  no  longer,  I  may  lie 
down  and  die/  Then  one  is  so  stunned,  so  over- 
whelmed, that  one  cannot  measure  one's  woe.  But 
when  the  storm  is  at  rest,  and  the  calm  of  a  so- 
called  pleasant  existence  begins ;  when  we  have 
nothing  to  struggle  with,  nothing  to  subdue  ;  when 
life  spreads  before  and  around  us  in  an  easy,  a 
golden  freedom  ;  when  no  weighty,  decided  duties 
spur  the  thoughts,  rule  the  acts  ;  when  we  have  time 
and  leisure  to  feel,  to  think,  to  measure  our  sorrow 
over  and  over,  and  through  and  through,  —  look 
you,  then  sorrow  ends,  and  misery  begins  ;  and  the 


The  Burden  of  Life.  145 

most  miserable  side  of  the  misery  is  that  it  makes 
one  weary,  —  weary.  The  first  condition  of  our 
being  is  a  whole  life,  —  that  is,  a  life  which  is 
claimed ;  over  full  by  our  duties ;  to  which,  as  of 
course,  belong  struggles,  bitterness,  and  cares 
of  every  kind.  But  it  is  this  empty  existence  that 
can  be  likened  to  a  crushed  sea-shell,  and  which, 
like  no  other,  makes  one  miserable." 

A  terrible  burden  to  bear  is  "  this  empty  ex- 
istence,"—  the  most  miserable  to  be  borne. 

But  whose  fault  is  it  that  this  "  existence  "  is 
empty?  The  power  lies  in  every  one's  hands 
to  fill  it.  In  olden  times,  this  tried  soul  that 
could  find  nothing  worthy  of  life  would  have 
gone  into  a  convent,  with  the  pretext  of  serving 
God,  only  to  make  there  a  shrine  to  itself,  to 
spend  its  time  in  counting  up  its  own  faults, 
and  selfishly  deploring  its  selfishness. 

But  now,  there  is  no  room  for  those  who 
would  "  rather  die  "  than  live  ;  no  such  chance 
for  killing  the  heart  and  walling  up  the  feel- 
ings. If  you  need  a  sorrow  to  ripen  your  soul, 
it  is  easily  found.     If  God   has  not  thought 


146  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

best  to  bring  it  into  your  own  home,  it  is  that 
you  may  go  and  find  it  in  another.  If  you 
have  no  prayer  to  offer  for  yourself,  pray  for 
the  countless  sufferers  on  either  side.  If  you 
want  to  know  what  sorrow  is,  think  of  those 
who  have  given  sons  to  the  war,  who  are  left 
alone  because  right  was  to  be  bought  by  the 
blood  of  those  dearest  to  them.  If  you  believe 
you  have  no  sympathy  from  those  who  have 
followed  Christ  in  suffering  as  he  did,  think 
of  the  tender  love  with  which  he  spoke  to  the 
young  man  who  had  much  possessions,  "How 
hard  it  is  for  those  who  have  riches  to  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  God  !"  How  hard  !  Yes, 
he  who  is  to  us  the  type  of  the  greatest  suffer- 
ing of  mankind  saw  that  just  this  trial  was 
hard  to  bear. 

Pass  out  from  your  own  life,  since  it  seems 
so  tasteless,  and  enter  with  a  full  heart  into 
that  of  others.  Wake  up  to  the  new  life  that 
every  day  brings,  the  sun  that  fetches  the 
morning,  the  spring  that  opens  the  leaves, 
the  glad  song  of  the  birds,  the  gay  colors  of 


The  Burden  of  Life.  147 

the  flowers.  Take  joy  to  those  who  are 
morose  and  unkind.  Insist  upon  it.  In  order 
to  carry  them  cheer,  you  will  have  to  be  cheer- 
ful yourself.  Because  an  apparently  easy  lot 
has  been  given  you,  spread  some  of  its  joy 
over  the  waste  places.  Carry  your  gifts  that 
you  despise  to  those  who  need  them.  If  you 
need  the  sorrow,  go  where  it  is  bitterest  and 
heaviest,  in  order  to  weep  with  those  who 
weep ;  and,  as  Mary  found  her  Master  in  the 
place  whence  she  thought  they  had  taken  him, 
you  will  find  God  in  the  empty  existence,  in 
that  vacant  life  that  seemed  such  a  burden. 

It  is  our  own  heart  that  needs  to  be  warmed. 
There  is  too  much  love  of  self  there,  too  little 
thoughtfulness  and  love  for  others.  It  is  just 
here  that  we  need  to  warm  and  heat  ourselves 
with  thinking  of  the  life  of  Christ,  to  remember 
that  his  first  and  greatest  law  was  "  to  love 
one's  neighbor  as  one's  self."  Let  us  awaken 
our  souls  to  that  "enthusiasm  of  humanity" 
to  which  the  author  of  "  Ecce  Homo  "  would 
arouse   us,   as   he  shows   how  it  was,  Christ 


148  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

bound  men  to  himself,  and  so  bound  them  to 
each  other. 

Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.  Take 
my  yoke  upon  you,  and  learn  of  me ;  for  I  am 
meek  and  lowly  in  heart,  and  ye  shall  find  rest 
unto  your  souls.  For  my  yoke  is  easy,  and 
my  burden  is  light. 

For  ye  have  the  poor  with  you  always  ;  and, 
whensoever  ye  will,  ye  may  do  them  good. 

Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you ;  seek,  and 
ye  shall  find ;  knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened 
unto  you.  For  every  one  that  asketh,  receiv- 
eth  ;  and  he  that  seeketh,  findeth  ;  and  to  him 
that  knocketh,  it  shall  be  opened. 


^B#S^ 


WHO   SHALL   DELIVER  ME? 


#7*  OD  strengthen  me  to  bear  myself, 


That  heaviest  weight  of  all  to  bear 


Inalienable  weight  of  care. 

All  others  are  outside  myself: 

I  lock  my  door,  and  bar  them  out,  — 

The  turmoil,  tedium,  gad-about. 

I  lock  my  door  upon  myself, 

And  bar  them  out ;  but  who  shall  wall 

Self  from  myself,  most  loathed  of  all  ? 


If  I  could  once  lay  down  myself, 
And  start  self-purged  upon  the  race 
That  all  must  run  !     Death  runs  apace, 


150  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

If  I  could  set  aside  myself, 

And  start  with  lightened  heart  upon 

The  road  by  all  men  overgone  ! 

God  harden  me  against  myself, 

This  coward  with  pathetic  voice 

Who  craves  the  ease  and  rest  and  joys ; 

Myself,  arch  traitor  to  myself; 

My  hollowest  friend,  my  deadliest  foe, 

My  clog  whatever  road  I  go. 

Yet  One  there  is  can  curb  myself, 
Can  roll  the  strangling  load  from  me, 
Break  off  the  yoke  and  set  me  free. 

Christina  G.  Rossetti,  in  the  "  Argosy." 


\  GAY,  serene  spirit  is  the  source  of  all 
■*■■*■  that  is  noble  and  good.  Whatever  is 
accomplished  of  the  greatest  and  the  noblest 
sort  flows  from  such  a  disposition.  Petty, 
gloomy  souls,  that  only  mourn  the  past  and 
dread  the  future,  are  not  capable  of  seizing 
upon  the  holiest  moments  of  life,  of  enjoying 
and  making  use  of  them  as  they  should. 

Schiller. 

Think,  we  are  walking  every  hour  of  the 

day  in  that  fairy  world  of  glory  and  beauty 

without  knowing  it.     And  people  call  it  "  this 

every-day  life,"  and  this  "  work-a-day"  world  ! 

Can  we  not  understand  a  little  how  it  is  that 

God  finds  it  for  our  profit  to  lead  us  sometimes 

into  the  shadows? 

Kitty  Trevylyan. 


GOOD  AND   EVIL. 


TI^E  should  avoid  the  exaggerations  of  a 
*   *         rash    philosophy   which    falsely   in- 
scribes itself  as  opposed  to  our  natural  senti- 
ments. 

The  groaning  chorus  of  the  discouraged 
repeats  constantly,  "All  is  vain,  all  is  empty; 
the  earth  is  a  valley  of  tears,  and  happiness  is 
an  illusive  word,  an  irony  that  insults  our 
griefs."  This  is  a  literary  declamation,  belied 
every  day  by  our  actions  and  our  sentiments ; 
every  day  accepted  and  said  again,  like  an 
eloquent   complaint   on  which  we  pride    our- 


Good  and  EviL  153 

selves.  It  appears  well  to  complain  thus  ;  and 
we  associate,  with  the  greatest  security,  unlim- 
ited effusions  on  the  infinite  wonders  of  an 
omnipotent  goodness  with  endless  lamenta- 
tions upon  the  miseries  of  existence,  and  the 
sad  nothingness  of  the  world  through  which  it 
flows.  Such  amplifications  of  rhetoric  in  favor 
of  two  sides  would  be  fit  only  for  the  schools. 

Yes,  there  are  frightful  evils ;  but  there  is 
much  great  and  truly  good  in  the  world.  Hap- 
piness exists  :  it  is  not  very  rare,  it  is  even 
easy.  But  it  is  right  to  say,  that  it  is  neither 
sure  nor  durable.  What  is  not  easy,  what  is 
often  impossible,  is  to  avoid  unhappiness ;  and 
unhappiness  is  no  more  of  an  illusion  than  hap- 
piness. Sorrow  is  real :  it  leaves  more  profound 
traces  than  happiness.  In  itself,  it  is  without 
consolation,  although  it  may  be  the  occasion 
for  wise  thoughts,  noble  resolutions,  generous 
efforts.  All  this  does  not  rise  from  sorrow, 
but  from  the  liberty  of  the  soul  and  the  power 
of  reason.  A  proof  of  this  is,  that  unhappi- 
ness often  dejects,  enervates,  corrupts.     Good 


154  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

does  not  then  come  from  the  evil :  it  comes 
only  from  good.  And  here  it  is  the  good  that 
is  in  us  which  re-acts  against  the  evil  of  our 
destiny.  Far  from  pain  being  a  good,  it  is 
good  only  to  conquer  it,  or  rather  to  conquer 
ourselves  in  spite  of  it. 

But  to  conquer  is  not  to  console  ourselves ; 
and  I  shall  never  insist  enough  upon  the  differ- 
ence which  separates  the  question  of  duty  from 
the  question  of  happiness.  Morality  does  not 
require  that  we  should  strive  to  unnaturalize 
our  most  irresistible  impressions,  to  change  our 
joys  into  miseries,  and  our  miseries  into  joys. 
This  temerity  of  philosophers  and  theologians 
in  belying  human  nature,  or  re-making  it,  in- 
spired sometimes  by  a  praiseworthy  dream  of 
an  artificial  perfection,  is  very  often  an  abuse 
of  inventive  subtlety,  a  pretension  to  know 
more  than  common  sense  teaches. 

Charles  de  Remusat. 


DISAPPOINTMENT. 


SERMON,  FOR   NEW  YEARS    DAY,  BY   CHRISTOPH   F.    AMMON. 


(Translated  from  the  German.) 


1I7E  are  often  led  to  ask,  why  the  New 
*  ™  Year's  Day,  which  ought  to  inspire 
every  one  with  joy  and  fresh  cheerfulness  in 
his  life's  course,  is  celebrated  by  so  many  with 
a  dull  indifference,  or  even  by  many  with  visi- 
ble sadness.  And  we  discover  the  cause 
plainly  in  a  silent  grief  over  wishes  unfulfilled. 
So  long  as  the  year  is  passing  on  in  the  midst 
of  its  course,  we  follow  willingly  the  plan  of 
life  once  marked  out  with  zeal  and  perseve- 
rance, we  are  not  easily  led  away  from  our 
projects  by  chance  interruptions  or  obstacles. 


156  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

We  often  hope  where  there  is  little  to  be  hoped 
for,  and  are  always  reckoning  upon  a  happy 
chance  which  may  give  a  favorable  turn  to  our 
affairs,  and  may  bring  a  happy  result  to  our 
plans. 

But,  on  the  first  day  of  a  new  year,  our  old 
hopes  and  expectations  are  wont  to  disappear 
with  the  old  year.  We  stand  on  a  cross  road, 
where  we  must  needs  lift  up  our  heads,  and 
give  a  new  direction  to  our  course  in  life.  We 
discover  with  pain,  that  we  have  persevered  in 
vain  ;  have  striven,  fought,  struggled  in  vain  : 
and  the  less  we  feel  within  us  the  power  and 
activity  of  spirit  then  for  adapting  ourselves 
to  the  present,  or  for  breaking  open  a  new 
course  for  our  wishes,  the  more  sadly,  the 
more  bowed  down  and  troubled,  do  we  sink 
into  an  anxious  melancholy  and  hopelessness. 
So  fearful  is  the  power  of  evil  upon  earth,  that 
even  there  where  the  spirit  of  good  has  raised 
its  head  victoriously,  the  evil  is  not  utterly  de- 
stroyed and  conquered.  New  cares  arise,  new 
passions  awaken,  and  new  obstacles  start  up ; 


Disappointment.  157 

old  habits  of  thought  and  action  are  destroyed  ; 
hopes  and  wishes  are  torn  away,  in  which  the 
delight  and  happiness  of  the  fairest  joys  were 
bound  up. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  we,  all  of  us,  have 
more  or  less  cause  to  yield  to  sensations  of 
sorrow  over  our  disappointed  plans.  The 
uncertain  present,  the  insecure  future,  the  in- 
terruption of  our  dearest  projects,  the  slow 
backwardness  in  our  household  prosperity,  on 
all  sides  offer  us  occasions  for  dissatisfaction 
and  discontent ;  and  we  no  longer  find  in  the  nar- 
rowing circle  of  our  friends  that  confidence  and 
openness  which  formerly  brought  us  so  many 
happy  hours.  But  is  it  right  towards  God  and 
our  consciences  to  nourish  such  sensations,  and 
cherish  such  adverse  feelings?  Is  it  wise  or 
worthy  of  a  Christian  to  grieve  in  silence,  and 
destroy  his  best  powers  in  such  a  struggle  of 
inward  bitterness?  Shall  we  draw  nearer  by  a 
single  step  to  the  goal  of  our  wishes,  if  we  arm 
ourselves  with  old  weapons  to  meet  the  emer- 
gencies of  a  new  year?  and  shall  we  have  the 


158  The  Service  of  Sorrow, 


slightest  influence  over  the  direction,  course,  or 
result  of  its  events,  unless  we  yield  the  former 
standpoint  of  our  prejudices  and  passions? 
Shall  we  not,  rather,  when  the  course  of  the 
sun  is  opening  to  us  a  new  year,  direct  an 
inquiring  glance  upon  ourselves  and  our  wel- 
fare ?  Should  we  not  consider  all  that  lies  with- 
in the  circle  of  our  influence,  with  repose, 
unrestraint,  and  with  carefully  measured  pru- 
dence ?  Should  we  not  reflect  on  what  in  our 
ways,  our  projects,  and  our  deeds,  might  be 
made  better,  more  pure,  more  noble?  Should 
we  not  finally  enjoy  the  many  good  things  the 
present  offers  us  with  satisfaction,  thankfulness, 
and  gladness  ;  and  yield  ourselves  to  the  hope, 
that  the  future,  under  God's  guidance,  will  be 
the  best  and  kindest  consoler  for  our  disap- 
pointed wishes  and  expectations  f  Oh,  the 
awakening  from  the  dreams  of  a  false  happi- 
ness in  which  we  have  cradled  ourselves  is  so 
bitter !  The  number  of  the  days  allotted  to 
our  journey  in  life  is  so  small  and  insignifi- 
cant ! 


Disappointment.  159 

The  seeking  after  the  one  thing  needful,  the 
searching  after  the  higher  and  eternal  life,  can 
bear  so  little  delay  and  postponement,  that  we 
cannot  quickly  enough  collect  and  compose 
ourselves  on  our  entrance  on  a  new,  perhaps 
the  last,  circle  of  an  earthly  being,  to  raise  our 
eyes  to  the  Father  of  light  and  purity,  to  lay 
down  all  our  cares  and  burdens  at  the  foot  of 
his  throne,  and  to  beg  of  him  power  and 
strength  that  we  may  complete  our  course  with 
earnestness  and  confidence,  with  peace  and 
gladness.  Our  prayer  is  thanksgiving  and 
praise,  and  our  thanksgiving  is  prayer  for  new 
blessings  and  new  grace  :  we  enter  before  his 
presence  in  silent  devotion. 

"  And  when  eight  days  were  accomplished 
for  the  circumcising  of  the  child,  his  name  was 
called  Jesus,  which  was  so  named  of  the  angel 
before  he  was  conceived  in  the  womb." —  Luke 
ii.  21. 

Little  as  the  parents  of  Jesus  must  have 
doubted,  that  the  name  which  was  given  to  him 
on  his  acceptance  into  the  covenant  of  his  peo- 


160  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

pie  had  reference  to  the  spiritual  salvation  of 
his  nation  and  mankind  in  general,  yet  they 
were  not  free  from  the  more  bodily  expecta- 
tion, that  he  would  take  the  throne  of  his 
father  David,  and  that  his  kingdom  would  have 
no  end.  The  fatherly  friend  and  protector  of 
his  youth  passed  away  too  early  from  the  stage 
to  utter  aloud  his  hopes ;  but  of  Mary,  who 
pleased  herself  with  the  glory  and  in  the  mira- 
cles of  her  son,  we  know  with  certainty,  that 
she  needed  the  reminder,  "  My  hour  is  not  yet 
come."  And  of  his  brethren,  the  Scripture  in- 
forms us,  they  believed  not  in  him,  because  he 
did  not  openly  reveal  himself  to  the  world.  It 
is  evident  that  the  desires  with  which  Jesus  was 
brought  to  the  circumcision  by  his  relations  did 
not  reach  their  fulfilment,  because  they  had 
not  considered  the  signs  of  the  times,  nor 
looked  freely  and  unrestrainedly  enough  into 
the  future.  We  would  then,  by  way  of  aiding 
our  conscientious  inquiry  into  the  past  and  the 
future,  consider  the  great  truth,  that  the  future 
under  God's  guidance  is  the  best  consoler  for 


Disappointment.  161 

our  disappointed  wishes.  Let  it  teach  us  in 
the  first  place,  why  we  have  till  now  been 
disappointed  in  so  many  of  our  wishes ; 
and  we  may  then  console  ourselves  with  the 
inquiry,  how  we  may  reach  them  more  se- 
curely in  the  future,  and  bring  them  to  com- 
pletion. 

If  we  look  into  the  future  with  the  conviction 
that  it  rests  "under  God's  guidance,  it  becomes 
in  the  first  place  our  teacher,  because  it  brings 
us  to  a  complete  insight  into  the  reason  that 
our  wishes  have  until  now  been  disappointed. 
On  a  day  like  to-day,  the  thought  comes  to  us 
of  itself,  that  many  of  our  hopes  must  have 
failed  of  success,  either  because  we  did  not 
know  what  was  good  for  us,  or  because  we  did 
not  always  seek  after  this  good  with  patience 
and  prudence,  or  because  we  wished  to  per- 
form all  through  our  own  strength  without 
God's  assistance. 

One  look  into  a  future  guided  by  God  re- 
calls to  us,  firstly,  that  we  till  now  have  been 
disappointed  in  our  wishes,  because  we  knew 


162  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

not  what  was  good  for  us.  Of  all  that  makes 
mankind  truly  satisfied  and  happy,  a  kind 
Providence  permits  no  one  to  want.  Nature 
is  rich  and  powerful  enough  to  give  us  all  food, 
health,  and  clothing ;  and  the  higher  gifts  of 
knowledge  and  virtue  which  create  the  true 
happiness  of  a  reasonable  being,  God  gives  al- 
ways without  measure,  as  he  himself  is  inim- 
itably holy,  kind,  and  merciful.  But,  in  the 
passing  year,  how  little  have  we  thought  of 
the  true  needs  of  our  nature,  of  the  higher 
blessings  of  the  spirit !  How  often  have  we 
considered  that  which  is  only  a  means  and  a 
preparation  for  better  things  as  our  highest 
and  only  object !  Yes,  often  have  we  been 
like  children  who  prefer  the  sparkling,  the 
noisy,  the  dazzling,  to  the  useful,  the  neces- 
sary, and  the  noble.  We  have  wished  only  to 
increase  our  own  property,  to  add  gain  to  gain  ; 
and  forgot,  at  the  same  time,  that  a  man  "liveth 
not  by  having  much  goods."  We  wished  to 
feel  happy  in  the  lavishness  of  expense,  in 
our  rich  ornaments,  in  brilliant  raiment;  and 


Disappointment.  163 

forgot  that  "life  is  more  than  meat,  and  the 
body  than  raiment."  We  did  not  deny  our- 
selves any  amusement,  any  pleasures,  any 
intoxicating  delight ;  and  forgot  that  dissipation 
is  the  mother  of  ill-humor,  and  that  luxurious 
enjoyment  is  the  death  of  true  joy.  We  have 
wished  to  live  in  our  own  quiet  circle,  with- 
drawn from  the  world,  to  live  only  for  ourselves 
and  our  own  hearts ;  and  forgot  that  for  man, 
yet  imperfect,  this  is  a  source  of  bitterness  and 
melancholy.  We  have  wished  only  to  attract 
attention,  to  win  only  honor,  rank,  and  pre- 
eminence ;  and  forgot  that  ambition  presses  the 
sting  of  pain  into  our  hearts,  if  it  is  not  led 
and  moderated  by  an  inner  repose  of  con- 
science. Ought  you  to  wonder  that  the  past 
year  has  deceived  you  in  all  these  expecta- 
tions? Was  it  not  wholesome  and  beneficial 
for  you,  that  a  higher  hand  denied  you  that 
which  led  you  so  blindly  to  your  ruin?  "What 
man  is  there  of  you,  who,  if  his  child  ask 
brecid,  will  he  give  him  a  stone?  or  if  a  fish, 
will  he  give  him  a  serpent?     How  much  more 


164  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

will  your  Father  in  heaven  give  good  gifts  to 
them  that  ask  him  !  " 

Yes  :  not  in  vain  do  you  to-day  cast  an  in- 
quiring glance  upon  the  past  year;  not, in  vain 
does  the  thought  arise  within  you,  that  it  was 
your  own  fault  that  you  have  not  been  as  happy 
this  year  as  you  would  have  wished.  The 
year  that  greeted  you  so  kindly,  when  you  were 
fulfilling  your  duty,  discloses  to  you  on  one 
side  the  secret  of  your  disappointed  wishes, 
because  it  reminds  you  that  you  often  knew 
not  what  is  good  for  you. 

But,  when  we  have  known  better,  we  have 
not  always  sought  for  it  with  the  necessary 
patience  and  prudence :  this  is  another  dis- 
covery which  the  future,  led  by  God,  offers  us 
with  regard  to  our  disappointed  wishes.  You 
were  not  wrong,  if  in  the  course  of  the  past 
year  you  planned  a  greater  activity  in  your 
business,  an  increase  in  your  wealth  and  prop- 
erty ;  but  "  your  hour  was  not  yet  come." 
The  moment  for  becoming  satisfied  and  happy 
was  not  yet  to  be  yours.     You  have  failed  to 


Disaff  ointment.  165 


reach  the  goal  of  your  wishes,  because  you 
pursued  it  too  impatiently,  — with  too  rash  and 
too  bold  zeal.  You  were  not  wrong  when  you 
aimed  at  making  a  name  for  yourself  in  your 
art,  your  profession,  or  business  ;  and  at  being 
looked  upon  with  respect  and  applause  by 
others.  But  there  wTere  many  others  before 
you  who  surpassed  you  in  attainments  and 
merits.  The  lot  of  being  honored  and  dis- 
tinguished did  not  yet  belong  to  you ;  and 
you  have  injured  yourself  in  public  opinion  by 
seeking  to  compel  honor  and  glory  before  you 
were  ripe  and  worthy  of  it.  And  now  look  at 
the  means  that  you  chose  to  reach  your  aim. 
Was  it  prudent  that  by  play,  fortune,  or  ven- 
turous undertakings,  you  wished  to  become 
rich,  and  neglect  diligence  and  activity  in  your 
calling?  Was  it  prudent  that  you  demanded 
a  high  price  for  your  wares,  your  industry,  or 
your  services ;  and  thereby  lost  the  praise  of 
honesty,  modesty,  and  equity?  Was  it  pru- 
dent that  you  expected  to  strengthen  and  re- 
store your  impaired  health  by  art  and  skill, 


1 66  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 


and  then  neglected  the  laws  of  order  and  mod- 
eration ?  And  how  if  you  sought  the  wisdom  of 
life  in  wholly  false  ways? — if,  instead  of  learn- 
ing from  the  fathers,  you  wished  to  draw  every 
thing  from  yourself  and  the  fulness  of  your 
own  self-conceit?  —  if,  instead  of  cultivating 
your  own  talents  in  quiet,  you  sought  to  obtain 
flattering  friends  to  extol  you  and  cry  you  up  ? 
Instead  of  winning  true  love  by  inner  worth, 
have  you  not  striven  for  a  permanent  connec- 
tion in  life  by  frivolous  acquaintances  and  am- 
biguous attachments?  Have  you  not  fancied 
you  had  served  your  fatherland  with  zeal, 
firmness,  and  activity,  when  in  truth  you  have 
labored  for  yourself,  for  your  own  advantage, 
to  the  injury  of  the  public?  Let  us  confess, 
under  that  wise  ordinance  of  God  in  which  the 
present  and  the  future  are  bound  together,  our 
wishes  must,  until  now,  have  needs  necessarily 
been  disappointed ;  because  we  did  not  strive 
after  their  fulfilment  with  the  necessary  repose 
and  prudence. 

Here  we  meet  again  with  this  fault,  that  we 


Disaff  ointment.  167 

wished  to  complete  all  by  ourselves  without 
God's  assistance.  In  the  industry  necessary  in 
our  business,  in  many  undertakings  for  the  in- 
crease of  our  wealth,  in  diligent  application  for 
the  support,  advancement,  and  elevation  of  our 
domestic  happiness,  we  have  perhaps  not  failed 
as  children  of  this  world;  only  we  were  of  the 
opinion  that  we  could  do  all  this  through  our 
own  strength  and  prudence.  We  were  unwill- 
ing to  see  that  the  creature  takes  only  what  the 
Lord  of  his  destiny  procures  for  him  accord- 
ing to  his  fatherly  wisdom  and  goodness ;  we 
were  too  secure  and  proud  to  beg  of  him  bless- 
ing and  prosperity  in  humble  submission. 
Should  we,  then,  wonder  if  he  has  denied  us 
what  we  have  not  deserved  ?  Is  it  not  easy  to 
explain  why  our  purposes  and  schemes  have 
met  with  hindrance  and  delay?  Must  it  not 
become  evident  why  it  is  that  the  goal  towards 
which  we  have  stretched  our  hands  has  con- 
stantly been  torn  from  us,  and  removed  into  the 
far  distance?  Yes,  indeed  :  even  with  regard 
to  our  own  wishes,  it  lies  not  according  to  any 


1 68  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

man's  will.  "I  returned,  and  saw  under  the 
sun  that  the  race  is  not  to  the  swift,  nor  the 
battle  to  the  strong  ;  neither  yet  bread  to 
the  wise,  nor  yet  riches  to  men  of  understand- 
ing, nor  yet  favor  to  men  of  skill :  but  time 
and  chance  happeneth  to  them  all." 

However  clear-sighted,  rich,  and  honored 
one  may  be,  yet  what  we  have  is  less  than 
what  we  miss.  The  ignorant  and  the  learned, 
the  needy  and  the  fortunate,  the  prince  and 
beggar,  without  exception,  carry  about  with 
them  new  endeavors  and  new  schemes  ;  and,  if 
they  ask,  at  the  entrance  of  a  new  year,  where- 
fore they  have  been  disappointed  the  past  year 
in  so  many  wishes,  they  cannot  avoid  the 
warning  remembrance  that  only  the  proud  con- 
fidence in  their  own  power  has  deceived  and 
deluded  them.  In  so  painful  an  experience, 
how  sensitive  should  this  discovery  make  us  to 
the  consolation  that  a  future  led  by  God  offers 
us,  if  we  will  only  observe  the  conditions  under 
which  we  may  promise  ourselves  to-day  a  hap- 
pier lot ! "  It  is  this  which  we  now  have  to  con- 
sider. 


Disaj)j>oin  tment.  169 

In  order  that  the  future,  under  God's  guid- 
ance, may  crown  your  wishes,  let  them  first  be 
awakened  by  a  higher  impulse.  You  think  it 
would  be  a  great  earthly  happiness,  if  you 
could  walk  in  the  circle  of  your  friends,  beau- 
tiful, adorned,  and  admired  :  it  is  much  too  little 
and  narrow,  what  you  choose.  Wish  rather  to 
be  skilled  in  your  art,  profession,  or  calling : 
for,  in  the  hour  when  you  wish  this  in  earnest, 
you  will  busy  yourself  with  high  examples ; 
you  will  advance  beyond  the  circle  of  your 
mediocrity  eagerly  and  with  spirit ;  you  will  be 
more  perfect,  more  distinguished,  more  worthy 
of  the  admiration  of  others.  You  think  it 
would  be  a  great  blessing  to  have  the  control 
of  great  sums,  if  you  could  shine  brilliantly  in 
a  pompous  display  of  expense,  if  you  could 
live  every  day  nobly  and  joyfully.  This  is 
much  too  common  and  petty  for  you  to  desire  : 
wish  rather  to  be  rich  in  inner  advantages,  in 
the  virtues  of  modesty,  of  self-control,  and  of 
friendly  benevolence ;  for,  in  the  very  hour 
when  you  wish  this  in  earnest,  you  will  prepare 


170  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

for  yourself  new  estimation,  —  a  new  source 
of  satisfaction  and  joy.  You  have  thought  till 
now  it  was  an  enviable  lot  to  go  about  with  dis- 
tinguished people,  to  be  friendly  with  the  great, 
to  approach  princes  and  kings.  This  that  you 
prefer  is  much  too  little,  too  small.  Wish  ear- 
nestly only  to  be  nearer  God,  and  sure  of  his 
favorable  approbation ;  for,  the  very  hour  you 
wish  this  earnestly,  your  spirit  itself  will  soar 
higher,  and  peace,  dignity,  power,  and  strength 
will  rejoice  your  very  soul.  For  this  reason  we 
are  loosed  from  the  lordship  of  the  past ;  for 
this  we  are  called  a  chosen  race,  and  a  kingly 
priesthood,  because  the  love  of  the  Father 
has  waxed  stronger  and  more  mighty  in  us 
than  the  love  of  this  world :  for  if  God  has 
not  allowed  our  sensual  and  earthly  desires 
to  be  realized,  yet  he  gives  us  richly  the  better 
things  that  we  need  as  Christians  and  immor- 
tals. Under  his  guidance,  the  future  comes  to 
meet  us  with  promises  that  shall  not  fail,  if  we 
only  know  how  to  ennoble  our  wishes,  and  give 
them  a  higher  impulse. 


Disaff  ointment.  171 

But  also  we  must  be  led  by  the  principle  of 
sparing  our  best  and  innermost  wishes  for 
heaven.  Health  and  strength  of  body  are,  of 
course,  essential  conditions  of  our  activity  and 
happiness  in  life.  Yet  you  cannot  always  suc- 
ceed with  the  greatest  regularity  and  modera- 
tion in  being  free  from  weakness,  pain,  and 
sickness.  If  you  are  now  wise,  you  submit 
silently  to  the  unavoidable  lot  of  an  earthly 
nature,  and  await  a  better  condition  in  the  land 
of  unperishable  things,  where  the  more  beauti- 
ful and  noble  raiment  of  a  heavenly  being  is 
prepared  for  you.  Clearness,  harmony,  and 
completeness  of  knowledge  and  ideas,  are  es- 
sential peculiarities  of  the  true  wisdom  of  life ; 
yet,  in  your  present  state  of  knowledge,  there  is 
darkness  and  mystery  everywhere.  It  is  incon- 
ceivable to  you  how  God  could  permit  upon 
earth  so  much  injustice,  so  many  acts  of  vio- 
lence, so  much  oppression  of  innocence.  If 
you  are  wise,  you  await  the  issue,  and  look 
longingly  towards  the  future  revelations  of  God, 
when  you  can  draw  from  the  source  of  light, 


172  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

when  3'ou  can  loose  the  riddle  of  life,  and  look 
upon  your  destiny  in  its  whole  course.  Do  you 
bear  in  your  breast  a  wound  that  no  consolation 
or  balm  on  earth  can  heal  ?  Have  you  lost  a 
friend,  a  beloved,  a  wife  or  husband,  with 
whose  loss  every  blossom  of  joy  is  broken 
away?  Do  you  feel  a  longing  within  you  for 
something  higher  and  more  blessed,  for  which 
the  earth  offers  no  satisfaction  ?  Walk  on  con- 
soled, and  grieve  not :  let  your  faith,  your 
longing,  your  love,  lead  you  to  the  hopes  and 
wishes  that  heaven  only  can  fulfil,  and  secure, 
to  your  everlasting  joy.  No  impatience  or 
doubting  dissatisfaction  can  hasten  God's  wise 
purposes  and  counsels.  Therefore  let  us  hum- 
ble our  hearts  under  the  dispensations  of  his 
mighty  hand,  and  bring  to  him  confidingly  the 
sacrifice  of  our  resignation  and  submission. 
Even  the  happiest  future  on  earth  can  only  pre- 
pare us  for  the  blessed  joys  of  the  heart  that 
God  has  arranged  for  his  friends,  and  there- 
fore nothing  is  more  fit  than  that  we  should 
reserve  our  best  and  noblest  wishes  for  heaven. 


Disappointment.  173 

Whatever,   on  the  contrary,  this  earth  can 
and  ought  to  afford  to  us,  for  this  we  ought  to 
strive,  even  with  persevering  and  unwearied 
activity,  in  order  that  the  future  may  no  longer 
disappoint  our  wishes.     If  it  is  painful  to  you 
that  you  have  been  able  to  perform  so  little,  to 
win  so  little  in  your  profession,  your  art,  or 
your  calling,  then  beware  of  becoming  dispir- 
ited,  or   seeking   your  fortune  in   some  false 
path  :    an  upright  and  firm  will,  under  God's 
guidance,    brings   the   victory   infallibly,    and 
will  win,   even  for  you,  the  reward  and   the 
blessing  that  your  long-waiting  heart  has  de- 
sired.    If  it  is  bitter  to  you  that  you  as  yet 
have  not  found  a  free  circle  of  influence,  that 
unexpected  obstacles  have  opposed  your  antici- 
pations and  aspirations,  oh  !  beware  of  giving 
way  to  anger,  sadness,  or  bitterness  :  for  God 
has  decreed  the  reward  of  faithfulness,  not  to 
the  restless,  the  distrusting,  but  to  the  perse- 
vering, childlike  will ;  and,  if  your  heart  only 
continues  firm,  so  shall  you  praise  the  Lord 
who  is  the   strength  of  your  countenance  and 


174  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

your  God.  Is  it  painful  to  you  that  you  have 
not  till  now  obtained  by  labor  the  necessities 
for  your  family,  that  you  cannot  maintain  your 
household  properly,  that  you  could  scarcely 
afford  what  belongs  to  the  necessary  mainte- 
nance of  life,  —  be  sure  not  to  let  your  hands 
lie  in  your  lap,  or  to  live  only  half-way,  incon- 
siderately, despairing  in  confidence  and  faith. 
A  firm  will  never  fails,  and  a  diligent  hand 
never  grows  poor :  even  before  you  suspect  it, 
will  the  weight  of  sorrow  be  lightened  for  you, 
and  a  prospect  for  the  future  be  opened  to  you, 
free  from  care.  "  I  have  been  young,  and  now 
am  old ;  yet  have  I  not  seen  the  righteous  for- 
saken, nor  his  seed  begging  bread." 

Already  a  great  advance  is  made  towards 
the  fulfilment  of  your  disappointed  wishes,  if 
you  only  continue  persevering  in  your  diligence 
and  activity. 

And  so  there  is  only  wanting  to  our  happi- 
ness a  truly  living  confidence,  childlike,  and 
submissive  to  the  guidance  of  Him  who  leaves 
not  one  of  our  best  wishes  unfulfilled.     "  There 


Disaff  ointment.  175 


hath  not  entered  into  the  heart  of  man  the 
things  which  God  hath  prepared  for  them  that 
love  him."  For  he  oversees  all  our  needs  and 
all  our  hopes  :  he  knows  the  day  and  hour  that 
"  no  man  knoweth,  no,  not  the  angels  which 
are  in  heaven,  neither  the  Son,  but  the 
Father." 

Without  this  confidence,  what  would  avail 
our  wearisome  strivings  at  a  time  when  the 
past  becomes  involved  in  the  present,  and  both 
enter  into  a  struggle  with  the  decisive  future, 
pressing  upon  us  more  than  ever  the  appeal  of 
the  holy  poet,  "  Commit  your  way  unto  the 
Lord:  trust  also  in  him,  and  he  shall  bring  it 
to  pass"?  Yes,  to  thee,  the  Eternal  One, 
"who  alone  doeth  great  wonders,  whose  mercy 
endureth  for  ever,"  we  lift  up  our  hearts  in 
childlike  devotion,  in  this  new  circle  of  time, 
developing  itself  under  thy  guidance  ! 


NIGHT     MUSINGS. 


FROM   THE    GERMAN. 


TT7HEN,  through  the  dark  and  weary  night, 

*         Sleepless  I  lie,  and  long  for  light ; 
Oppressed  with  care,  and  filled  with  grief,  — 
Where  shall  I  turn  to  find  relief? 
My  sighs,  O  God !  rise  up  to  thee : 
My  Father,  come  and  comfort  me. 

When  wet  with  tears  I  eat  my  bread, 

While  sorrow  bows  my  drooping  head, 

How  sore  and  great  my  grief  may  be, 

My  God  will  still  remember  me ; 

For  He  has  ever  led  his  child 

Where  thorns  have  torn,  or  roses  smiled. 

How  have  I  pondered  long  and  late, 
And  questioned  of  my  future  fate  ! 
And  then  at  length  the  welcome  day 
Has  driven  these  clouds  of  doubt  away. 


Night  Musings.  177 

#So  I  will  trust  thee,  and  from  hence, 
In  God  place  all  my  confidence. 

Oh,  give  me  patience  that  I  may 

Throw  anxious  fear  and  care  away  ! 

My  anchor  firm  be  constant  prayer, 

My  God  will  hear,  my  God  will  care. 

My  willing  spirit,  Lord,  sustain, 

Till  my  weak  flesh  new  strength  may  gain. 

I  have  no  want,  if  I  have  thee  ; 
Thou  carest  for  those  I  love  and  me ; 
Through  life  and  death  there  shines  above, 
The  sun  of  grace,  a  Father's  love  : 
Thus  in  full  trust  my  care  shall  cease, 
And  find  in  God  a  perfect  peace. 

And  when  the  final  hour  has  come, 

To  heaven's  own  rest  he  calls  me  home ; 

My  weary  eyes  he  shuts  in  peace, 

And  to  my  soul  gives  glad  release. 

The  time  and  place  he  orders  right, 

When  to  the  world  I  say  Good-night ; 

For  so  for  ever  God  disposes  : 

Gently  in  death  my  eyes  he  closes. 

S.  P.  H. 


TROUBLES  WHICH  COME  TO  US  THROUGH  THE 
MISTAKES  OR  MISCONDUCT  OF  OTHERS. 


\  GREAT  variety  and  very  severe  trials 
■*■  ■**  may  come  to  us  from  these  causes. 
Very  hard  are  they  to  bear,  and  very  peculiar 
and  careful  must  be  the  training  to  fit  the  soul 
to  bear  them.  The  personal  sorrow  of  a  feeble 
or  diseased  body  is  hard  to  endure.  But  it 
has  its  alleviations ;  it  comes  directly  from  the 
Father's  hand;  it  comes  perhaps  gradually, 
and  we  learn  by  degrees  to  bear  it ;  or  it  comes 
in  a  violent  shock  which  at  first  stuns  and  be- 
numbs the  faculties,  and  the  gradual  softening 
of  the  pain  or  rallying  from  the  weakness  is 


Troubles  which   Come  to   Us.         179 

such  a  blessing  that  the  great  beginning  of 
the  pain  is  forgotten.  We  have  no  reproaches 
to  make  to  ourselves,  and  we  have  the  sympa- 
thy and  help  of  loving  friends,  and  confidence 
and  trust  in  the  Heavenly  Father  and  Physi- 
cian :  we  lie  still  in  his  hand,  and  await  his 
time. 

The  far  sorer  trouble  of  separation  from  those 
we  love  comes  to  us  also  directly  from  above. 
He  gave,  and  he  takes  away.  Our  loss  is 
their  gain.  We  must  sit  still,  and  wait,  and  look 
up,  and  pray  and  trust.  Our  Saviour  has  gone 
before  to  prepare  the  mansions.  The  departed 
are  in  their  w  little  cells  of  felicity  :  "  they  await 
us  there. 

There  is  another  kind  of  grief  which  is 
sometimes  put  into  the  list  of  the  ills  that  flesh 
is  heir  to,  — what  is  called  adversity,  a  change 
of  fortune  or  loss  of  property  or  of  worldly  posi- 
tion ;  but  this  seems  so  light,  compared  with 
these  others,  that  it  hardly  deserves  a  place  in 
this  catalogue.  If  we  have  healthy  bodies,  and 
loving  friends,  and  brave  hearts,  shall  we  not 


180  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

have  our  Heavenly  Father  to  give  us  meat  to 
eat,  and  clothes  to  wear?  "  He  knoweth  ye 
have  need  of  these  things." 

But  where  is  the  heart  of  man  or  woman 
who  could  not,  if  he  dared,  tell  of  heavier  sor- 
row, one  harder  to  bear  than  any  of  these? 
Many  years  ago,  a  poor  laboring  woman  was 
sympathizing  with  a  friend  who  had  just  been 
parted  from  the  husband  of  her  youth,  the  lov- 
ing father  of  her  little  family  of  children,  one  of 
the  wisest,  tenderest,  best  of  men.  "  Oh,  me  !" 
she  said,  "you  have  had  a  heavy  loss:  the 
Lord  give  you  strength  to  bear  it !  But  a  liv- 
ing trouble  is  worse  than  a  dead  one."  It  was 
perhaps  a  coarse,  rude  expression ;  but  she 
was  a  woman  of  but  little  culture,  who  had 
had  the  hard  struggle  of  life  in  some  of  its 
rudest  forms.  No  historian  or  romancer  had 
been  by  to  tell  of  her  early  youth,  and  the  steps 
by  which  her  husband  had  been  led  along  and 
astray,  till,  long  before  her  old  age,  at  the  time 
of  which  I  speak,  he  had  yielded  to  tempta- 
tion, had  acquired  ruinous  habits,  had  become 


Troubles  which   Come  to   Us.         181 

harsh  and  severe  and  improvident.  She  had 
borne  and  reared  seven  children  in  her  pov- 
erty, and  with  the  fountain  nature  had  pro- 
vided for  each  new-comer  she  had  nourished 
another  child  beside,  and  thus  been  a  mother 
to  fourteen  children ;  and  the  earnings  from 
this  source  had  been  the  chief  support  of  the 
family.  From  the  desolate  house,  where,  how- 
ever, were  the  decencies  and  comforts  of  life ; 
and  the  bereft  mother,  who  had  still  all  she 
needed  for  her  children,  —  her  mind  turned  to 
her  own  little  cottage  over  which  brooded  the 
heavy  shadow  of  her  blighted  hopes ;  and 
where  the  struggle  for  daily  bread,  and  the 
attempt  to  keep  peace,  was  constant  and  urgent. 
But  she  was  a  brave  woman,  kept  up  a  good 
heart ;  her  children  grew  up  and  helped,  or 
died  and  left  her ;  and  in  later  years,  as  she 
used  to  express  it  in  her  homely  phrase,  "she 
got  the  better  of  the  old  man  : "  he  was  una- 
ble to  go  out  and  procure  what  was  the  source 
of  all  their  trouble.  "She  only  gave  him  a 
little  on  his  birthday."     He  died  several  years 


182  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

before  she  did ;  and  she  was  able  to  live  on  in 
her  solitary  little  home,  of  which  she  managed 
to  remain  the  owner,  until,  in  her  great  age 
and  increasing  infirmity,  she  consented  to  ex- 
change it  for  a  comfortable  room  in  the  poor- 
house.  She  survived  husband  and  children ; 
but  she  had  a  brave,  devout  heart.  Almost  to 
the  last,  she  answered  by  her  presence  "  the 
blest  summons  to  the  house  of  God ; "  and,  in 
her  simple  faith,  lived  and  died  in  peace  and 
hope. 

All  have  not  this  poor  woman's  trials ;  but 
there  are  few  who  are  not  in  some  way  or 
fashion  wounded  in  the  house  of  their  friends. 
How  are  these  troubles  to  be  met  and  borne  ? 

In  the  first  place,  let  great  care  be  taken  that 
the  pain  which  we  attribute  entirely  to  the  fault 
of  another  does  not  come  from  our  own  hearts. 
Are  we  quite  free  from  envy  and  jealousy,  and 
selfishness  in  all  its  forms?  Do  we  take  great 
care  to  think  no  evil,  not  to  magnify  the  faults 
of  others,  not  to  attribute  motives  of  action  to 
others  which  we  are  not  certain  are  founded  in 


Troubles  which   Come  to   Us.         183 

truth?  Selfishness,  though  we  often  do  not 
know  it,  is  at  the  bottom  of  almost  all  the 
trouble  that  comes  up  between  men.  Why 
should  you  gare  so  much  for  yourself,  if  those 
about  you  are  good  and  happy  ?  Why  should 
you  be  disturbed,  if  it  is  not  exactly  in  the  way 
you  think  best  ?  Why  be  troubled  at  the  fear 
that  others  do  not  do  you  justice,  or  do  not 
think  of  }'ou  at  all?  If  they  are  good,  you 
think  of  them,  and  love  them ;  if  they  are 
unworthy,  it  is  no  matter  what  they  think.  An 
old  writer  says,  "Perhaps,  if  he  who  thinks 
ill  of  you  knew  you  as  well  as  you  know  your- 
self, he  would  think  far  worse." 

But,  beyond  these  sentimental  and  perhaps 
imaginary  causes  of  trouble,  there  is  a  still 
deeper  and  darker  shadow :  one  whom  we 
tenderly  love,  for  whom  we  would  gladly  lay 
down  our  life,  is  led  astray  from  the  Father, 
from  the  Lord  Jesus,  from  the  paths  of  good- 
ness and  hope.  We  have  striven,  we  have 
watched,  we  have  prayed ;  but  temptation  is 
strong,  and  man  is  weak,  and  hope  is  almost 


184  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

lost.  But  never  despair.  Pray  on,  hope  on, 
strive  on.  Watch  especially  that  you  do  not, 
even  by  well-meant  efforts,  make  harder  the 
returning  step :  never  quench  tjie  smoking 
flax,  nor  breathe  out  the  kindling  flame  of 
penitence ;  but  stand  ever  ready  with  an  out- 
stretched hand,  and  remember  the  condition 
on  which  the  Lord  has  bidden  us  ask  to  have 
our  trespasses  forgiven. 

Try  not  to  look  forward  to  something  worse 
than  you  are  now  suffering.  Time  is  a  great 
alleviator,  and  you  know  not  what  God  has  in 
store  for  you.  If  you  have  any  experience  of 
life,  you  must  have  learned  how  utterly  vain 
and  futile  it  is  to  attempt  to  imagine  what  may 
happen  in  the  future.  Never,  in  your  abhor- 
rence of  the  sin,  allow  any  thing  but  tenderness 
to  the  sinner  to  live  in  your  heart.  Do  not 
allow  yourself  to  dwell  on  the  faults  or  mis- 
takes that  cause  you  pain  ;  but  turn  aside  from 
them,  and  try  to  look  out  and  cherish  every 
spark  of  goodness  that  remains.  And  how 
few  are  the  hearts  in  which  all  God's  grace  is 


Troubles  which   Come  to    Us.         185 

put  out !  One  poor  old  woman  lived  to  see  all 
her  troubles  cleared  away,  all  the  faults  of 
those  she  loved  forgotten.  Her  poor,  feeble 
body  parted  gently  from  her  aspiring  and 
happy  soul,  which  has  doubtless  found  its 
home  and  its  happy  place  in  the  mansions  of 
the  blest. 

In  misunderstandings  among  relatives  and 
friends,  which  often  cause  exquisite  pain,  and 
lead  sometimes  to  separation  of  what  God  has 
joined  together  by  birth  or  sacrament,  do  not 
dwell  upon  what  caused  the  first  rupture,  nor 
ask  who  took  the  first  step  across  the  stream 
which  separates  you  ;  but  rather  try  to  see  who 
shall  enter  first  the  returning  path.  Let  the 
past  be  forgotten  and  forgiven,  and  be  hopeful 
and  trustful  for  the  future.  Life  is  too  short 
to  be  spent  in  unkindness,  and  separation  of 
dear  ones. 

What  makes  this  form  of  trial  most  hard  to 
meet  is,  that  it  is  one  which  we  cannot  speak 
openly  of  to  our  friends.  Fain  would  we  hide 
our  trouble  from  every  eye.     We  cannot  bear 


1 86  The  Service  of  Sorrow, 

that  the  most  intimate  companion  should  guess 
our  sorrow.  It  is  long  before  we  confess  it  to 
ourselves.  The  poor  Irish  woman  who  is  res- 
cued by  the  police-officer  from  the  cruelty  of 
her  half-insane  husband  shrinks  the  next 
morning  from  testifying  to  her  injuries  before 
the  magistrate,  in  order  that  he  may  be  sent  to 
prison ;  but  very  probably  pays  his  fine  from 
her  own  hard  earnings,  and  goes  home  with 
him,  to  have  the  same  scene  renewed  when 
the  momentary  terror  of  judgment  has  passed 
away. 

Patience,  prayer,  and  hope  should  never 
cease  ;  and  they  will  not  fail  in  the  end.  When 
nothing  can  be  done  but  to  continue  in  the 
exercise  of  these  graces,  try  to  turn  the  mind 
as  much  as  possible  from  the  source  of  the 
sorrow.  Accept  the  comforts  and  alleviations 
that  come  from  other  sources  ;  and  perhaps,  in 
a  way  that  we  know  not  or  think  not  of,  relief 
shall  come.  "Fret  not  thyself,"  says  the 
Psalmist ;  and,  if  you  have  power  to  follow 
his  counsel,  you  will  stand  firm  and  free  to  help 


Troubles  which   Co?ne  to    Us. 


187 


forward  the  wanderer  whenever  he  shall  begin 
his  returning  and  ascending  way.  And  God 
ever  is  found  ready  to  help  those  who  try  to 
help  themselves. 


*J/& 


JUDGE    NOT. 


TUDGE  not :  the  workings  of  his  brain 
And  of  his  heart  thou  canst  not  see : 
What  looks  to  thy  dim  eyes  a  stain, 

In  God's  pure  light  may  only  be 
A  scar,  brought  from  some  well-won  field, 
Where  thou  wouldst  only  faint  and  yield. 


The  look,  the  air,  that  frets  thy  sight, 

May  be  a  token,  that,  below, 
The  soul  has  closed  in  deadly  fight 

With  some  internal,  fiery  foe, 
Whose  glance  would  scorch  thy  smiling  grace, 
And  cast  thee  shuddering  on  thy  face. 


Judge  Not. 


The  fall  thou  darest  to  despise  — 
May  be,  the  slackened  angel's  hand 

Has  suffered  it,  that  he  may  rise 
And  take  a  firmer,  surer  stand  ; 

Or,  trusting  less  to  earthly  things, 

May  henceforth  learn  to  use  his  wings. 

And.  judge  none  lost ;  bu1:  wait  and  see, 

With  hopeful  pity,  not  disdain  : 
The  depth  of  the  abyss  may  be 

The  measure  of  the  height  of  pain 
And  love  and  glory,  that  may  raise 
This  soul  to  God  in  after-days. 

A.  A.  Proctor. 


HT^HERE  is  indeed  a  miracle  of  resignation 
-*-  to  be  performed  with  regard  to  those 
evils  that  come  to  us  from  individuals  :  it  is 
this,  to  make  them  transparent,  and  to  show 
us  God  behind  them.  From  the  moment  we 
have  seen  Him  through  the  light  veil  of  events 
and  men,  then  insults,  offences,  the  most  in- 
tentional wrongs  and  the  most  direct,  are  only 
the  divine  finger  tracing  the  way  of  mercy 
which  leads  to  future  happiness.  Our  evils 
can  yet  make  us  suffer ;  but  they  no  longer 
contain  poison.  From  the  rank  of  masters, 
our  enemies  descend  to  that  of  instruments. 
Those  who  believed  they  commanded,  are  seen 
to  obey. 

Mad.  Swetchine. 


SADNESS  AND   GLADNESS. 


r  I  ^HERE  was  a  glory  in  my  house, 

And  it  is  fled  ; 
There  was  a  baby  at  my  heart, 

And  it  is  dead. 

And  when  I  sit  and  think  of  him, 

I  am  so  sad, 
That  half  it  seems  that  nevermore 

Can  I  be  glad. 


If  you  had  known  this  baby  mine, 

He  was  so  sweet, 
You  would  have  gone  a  journey  just 

To  kiss  his  feet. 


192  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

He  could  not  walk  a  single  step, 
Nor  speak  a  word  ; 

But  then  he  was  as  blithe  and  gay 
As  any  bird 

That  ever  sat  on  orchard  bough, 
And  trilled  its  song, 

Until  the  listener  fancied  it 
As  sweet  and  strong 


As  if  from  lips  of  angels  he 

Had  heard  it  flow  ; 

Such  angels  as  thy  hand  could  paint, 

Angelico ! 

You  cannot  think  how  many  things 

He  learned  to  know, 

Before  the  swift,  swift  angel  came, 

And  bade  him  go. 

So  that  my  neighbors  said  of  him, 

He  was  so  wise 

That  he  was  never  meant  for  earth, 

But  for  the  skies. 

Sadness  and  Gladness,  193 

But  I  would  not  believe  a  word 

Of  what  they  said  ; 
Nor  will  I  even  now,  although 

My  boy  is  dead. 

For  God  would  be  most  wicked,  if, 

When  all  the  earth 
Is  in  the  travail  of  a  new 

And  heavenly  birth, 

As  often  as  a  little  Christ  is  found, 

With  human  breath, 
He,  like  another  Herod,  should  resolve 

Upon  its  death. 

But  should  you  ask  me  how  it  is 

That  yours  can  stay, 
Though  mine  must  spread  his  little  wing, 

And  fly  away,  — 

I  could  but  say,  that  God,  who  made 

This  heart  of  mine, 
Must  have  intended  that  its  love 

Should  be  the  sign 

13 


194  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

Of  his  own  love  ;  and  that  if  he 

Can  think  it  right 
To  turn  my  joy  to  sorrow,  and 

My  day  to  night, 

I  cannot  doubt  that  he  will  turn, 

In  other  ways, 
My  winter  darkness  to  the  light 

Of  summer  days. 

I  know  that  God  gives  nothing  to 

Us  for  a  day  ; 
That  what  he  gives  he  never  cares 

To  take  away. 

And  when  he  comes  and  seems  to  make 

Our  glory  less, 
It  is  that  by  and  bye  we  may 

The  more  confess, 

That  he  has  made  it  brighter  than 

It  was  before ; 
A  glory  shining  on  and  on 

For  evermore. 


Sadness  and  Gladness. 


And  when  I  sit  and  think  of  this, 

I  am  so  glad, 
That  half  it  seems  that  nevermore 

Can  I  be  sad. 


J95 


J.  W.  C.  in  the  Monthly  Religious  Magazine. 


IMMORTALITY. 


IT  7HEN  the  sound  of  some  voice  dear  to 
*  *  us  "  stops  suddenly,"  we  are  brought 
directly  to  the  closed  door  into  the  silent  land. 
The  great  questionings  come  up  again  freshly 
as  to  that  "beyond."  Where  have  they  gone 
who  were  with  us  just  now?  What  is  their 
new  life?  Is  it  a  complete  sundering  of  the 
old  one?  Can  they  hear  us?  Are  they 
nearer  the  presence  of  God? 

A  crowd  of  uncertain  questions  :  but  in  the 
doubt  comes  one  certainty ;  it  is  of  the  immor- 
tality of  this  life  that  has  passed  out  of  our 


Immortality.  197 


sight.  This  friend,  whom  I  can  see  no  more, 
whose  eyes  are  closed  and  voice  stilled,  was 
made  up  of  more  than  eye  or  sound  could  ex- 
press, of  something  besides  the  "mortal."  In 
the  life  we  shared  together,  there  was  some- 
thing besides  what  was  expressed  by  word  or 
look,  or  by  the  senses. 

Not  that  all  these  were  of  little  value.  Now, 
more  than  ever,  I  know  what  I  possessed 
before,  in  that  bodily  presence,  in  that  cheer- 
fulness of  look  and  word,  in  that  support  which 
only  a  glance  could  give.  What  a  vacant 
place  !  And  nothing  can  ever  fill  it.  I  feel  as 
if,  in  those  happier  days,  I  never  knew  what 
was  the  full  blessing  of  this  presence  that  is 
gone,  or  valued  it  enough,  or  asked  enough 
from  that  voice,  or  gave  thanks  enough  for  all 
the  joy  it  brought.  No  memory,  no  sense  of 
spiritual  presence,  can  restore  the  full  happiness 
of  that  nearness  both  of  soul  and  body.  Such 
parting  as  this  cannot  make  us  prize  less  the 
joy  that  the  senses  can  bring ;  it  heightens 
only    all   the    happiness    that   has    gone,    and 


198  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

makes  us  homesick  and  longing  for  all  that 
went  before. 

It  is  this  homesickness  and  longing  that 
opens  to  us  the  other  world.  Our  hearts  must 
needs  follow  those  who  have  gone  towards  it. 
We  suddenly  find,  that,  though  the  gift  of  that 
presence  was  what  made  our  life  rich,  it  was  not 
all  in  touch  or  look,  but  because  these  told  us 
things  of  the  spirit,  —  that  our  highest  friendly 
intercourse  was  often  in  silences  or  in  unex- 
pressed words.  And  this  part  of  our  life  and 
theirs  suddenly  opens  itself.  We  find  that 
such  a  life  could  not  die  with  the  dissolution  of 
the  senses ;  it  must  continue  and  find  a  new 
life  and  a  home  in  which  to  express  itself. 

It  is  because  we  feel  they  cannot  die  that  we 
begin  to  build  up  the  thought  of  the  other 
world.  "  Death  leads  us  with  a  gentle  hand  " 
into  this  silent  land. 

Of  this  future  life  we  have  one  certainty,  that 
it  cannot  be  where  God  is  not.  These  parting 
spirits,  wherever  they  have  gone,  must  go  to 
meet   Him.     We   still    have,  then,   one    place 


Immortality,  199 


where  we  may  meet  them,  —  in  our  prayers  to 
God.  Here  is  a  true  communion  of  all  those 
who  lift  their  hearts  to  God,  to  which  we  are 
compelled  when  the  grave  has  shut  us  out 
from  all  other  union  with  our  friends. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  for  those  who  have 
grown  familiar  with  death,  the  other  world 
seems  a  place  more  real  than  this.  It  is  peo- 
pled with  those  who  are  most  dear  to  them. 
The  thought  of  it  lifts  them  up  more  nearly  to 
the  thought  of  God.  No  wonder  that,  in  the 
constant  contemplation  of  its  spiritual  joys,  the 
cares  of  *  this  life  should  seem  very  petty  and 
distasteful,  and  the  way  seem  very  long  that 
leads  to  it. 

But  we  none  of  us  know  the  hour  that  will 
call  us  there.  Let  us  thank  God  that  it  is  so. 
If  we  had  such  an  hour  appointed,  and  if  we 
believed  it  necessary  to  make  such  preparation 
for  it  as  many  would  lead  us  to  think,  this 
world  would  indeed  be  the  valley  of  tears  that 
some  would  represent  it.  On  the  contrary,  let 
us  think,  that,  seeing  we  are  some  day  to  part 


200  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

from  these  gifts  with  which  God  has  sur- 
rounded us,  we  ought  to  value  them  as  long  as 
we  have  them.  Ah,  how  should  we  regret  it, 
if  we  had  shortened  the  happy  hours  of  our 
intercourse  with  a  dear  friend  in  our  lamenting 
that  he  must  leave  us  !  And  what  shall  we 
have  to  say  if  God  shall  ask  us,  where  is  our 
joy  at  this  beautiful  world  that  He  has  created 
for  us,  and  what  right  we  have  to  another, 
since  we  knew  not  well  what  to  do  with  this  ? 

If  our  life  here  is  to  be  a  preparation  for 
another  world,  it  must  follow  that  our  senses 
are  given  us  for  a  high  purpose,  to  teach  our 
souls  with  what  they  bring  to  our  conscious- 
ness. If  our  memory  brings  back  to  us  the 
thought  of  any  kindness  we  might  have  paid 
to  a  friend  that  has  died,  any  gratefulness  we 
might  have  shown  him,  we  regret  it  with  all 
our  hearts ;  and  it  is  the  bitterest  part  of  our 
sorrow.  So,  too,  we  shall  regret  our  want  of 
gratitude  for  the  joys  of  this  world,  our  forget- 
fulness  of  the  rich  life  there  is  in  every  day, 
our  repining  and  longing  for  another  world, 


Immortality .  201 


for  which  perhaps  we  shall  so  make  ourselves 
more  unfit  than  for  this.  Our  longing  after 
those  higher  joys  ought  only  to  refine  those 
that  are  given  us  here,  and  exist  by  the  side  of 
them,  as  the  consciousness  of  our  friend  in  the 
other  life  holds  its  place  in  the  midst  of  the 
memories  of  our  happiness  together  here. 

The  changes  in  this  life  are  apt  to  be  gentle 
and  gradual.  And  why  not  this  last  change? 
The  soul,  when  it  forsakes  the  body,  composes 
it  to  rest,  leaves  a  peaceful  smile  around  the 
mouth,  which  often  shows  that  the  parting  of 
soul  and  body  has  been  triumphant  as  well  as 
happy.  I  often  think  that  one  of  the  surprises 
of  that  new  life  may  be,  that  all  the  time  it  has 
been  so  near,  and  the  entrance  to  it  so  easy,  — 
a  waking  less  violent  than  from  a  tired  night 
into  a  tired  day. 

No  eye  hath  seen,  nor  ear  hath  heard,  nor 
heart  conceived,  the  things  that  God  hath  pre- 
pared for  them  that  love  Him.  Then,  too,  "I 
am  persuaded,  that  neither  death  nor  life,  nor 
angels  nor  principalities  nor  powers,  nor  things 


202  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 


present  nor  things  to  come,  nor  height  nor 
depth  nor  any  other  creature,  shall  be  able  to 
separate  us  from  the  love  of  God  which  is  in 
Christ  Jesus  our  Lord." 

For  God  is  to  be  found  in  death  as  in  life, 
in  things  present  as  in  things  to  come.  Not 
height  or  depth,  no,  nor  any  other  creature, 
is  to  separate  us  from  Him.  Our  love  for 
"  any  other  creature  "  !  Perhaps  there  is  dan- 
ger that  a  blind  selfish  love  this  way  might  lead 
us  from  Him.  But  no  :  rather  let  it  lead  us 
towards  Him  through  life,  through  death,  into 
that  Presence  where  we  both  may  meet  again. 


^    Or 


THE   PRESENCE   OF   GOD. 


A  ND  what  indeed  could  adversity  do,  since 
x  ■*-  the  more  one  loves  God,  the  less  one  is 
sensitive  to  misfortune  ?  What  death  or  life ; 
since  God  is  conqueror  of  the  one,  and  giver 
of  the  other?  Or  angels  or  powers  ;  since  all 
are  his  ministers,  —  some  for  justice,  and  some 
for  mercy?  Or  things  present  or  things  to 
come ;  since  a  heart  full  of  God  sees  nothing, 
hopes  for  nothing  but  in  Him  ?  What  are  heights 
and  depths  ;  since  the  height  of  heaven  is  prom- 
ised to  him  who  loves  Him,  and  the  depth  of 
the  abyss  to  him  who  loves  Him  not  ?     Let  us, 


204  The  Service  of  Sorrow, 

then,  do  our  best  to  bend  our  head  beneath  the 
blow  that  strikes  us,  and  thus  render  thanks  to 
the  just  Judge,  the  kind  Father,  the  powerful 
Remunerator,  from  whom  comes  correction 
and  trial.  Let  us  consider  that  all  our  afflic- 
tions come  from  Him,  and  we  shall  take  them 
with  submission ;  that  they  are  the  laws  of  our 
nature,  and  we  shall  receive  them  with  pa- 
tience ;  that  they  are  the  punishment  of  our 
faults,  and  we  shall  be  resigned  ;  that  they  are 
fatherly  chastisements  to  free  us  from  other 
and  greater  evils,  and  we  shall  be  grateful ; 
that  they  are  the  promoters  of  our  virtue,  and 
we  shall  take  them  with  confident  courage ; 
that  they  are  the  crucible  of  our  rewards,  and 
we  shall  welcome  them  with  joy. 

G.  Barbieri. 


THE   MYSTERY. 


TJEHOLD,  I  show  you  a  mystery!  We 
-*-*  shall  not  all  sleep,  but  we  shall  all  be 
changed.  In  a  moment,  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  at  the  last  trump  ;  for  the  trumpet  shall 
sound,  and  the  dead  shall  be  raised  incor- 
ruptible, and  we  shall  be  changed.  For  this 
corruptible  must  put  on  incorruption,  and 
this  mortal  must  put  on  immortality.  So  when 
this  corruption  shall  have  put  on  incorruption, 
and  this  mortal  shall  have  put  on  immortality, 
then  shall  be  brought  to  pass  the  saying  that  is 
written,  "Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory." 

O  death  !  where  is  thy  sting  ?  O  grave  ! 
where  is  thy  victory? 

The  sting  of  death  is  sin ;  and  the  strength 
of  sin  is  the  law.  But  thanks  be  to  God, 
which  giveth  us  the  victory  through  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ. 


OF   DEATH, 


/GENERALLY  speaking,  death  seems  to 
^*  have  been  made  terrible  only  to  keep  us 
the  more  willingly  and  safely  in  life,  only  to 
make  us  take  the  greater  care  of  our  present 
vitality,  and  of  our  qualifications  for  its  enjoy- 
ment. Before  we  come  to  the  pass,  others 
have  gone  through  it,  whose  disappearance 
has  made  it  less  terrible,  whom  we  may  be 
even  glad  to  follow ;  and,  when  we  arrive  at 
it,  there  is  reason  to  believe  that,  under  no  cir- 
cumstances but  such  as  guilt  or  superstition 
darkens  (and  there  are  hearts  that  can  bring 


Of  Death,  207 


comfort  even  to  those) ,  does  the  passage  turn 
out  to  be  any  thing  like  what  we  thought  it, 
or,  if  so,  in  any  such  degree.  There  is  work 
to  be  done  by  the  fact  of  going  through  it ; 
and  that  employs  us.  There  is  comfort  to  be 
received  and  given  ;  and  that  employs  us  also, 
and  exalts  us.  And  if  there  is  sorrow  at  part- 
ing, and  pain  in  the  struggle  to  breathe,  both 
are  often  minimized  b}^  the  parting  mind  and 
the  unresisting  body.  Many  go  out  with  a 
sigh ;    many,   as  if  there  had   not  even  been 

a  sigh. 

Leigh  Hunt. 


THE   MEMORY  WE    LEAVE   BEHIND. 


THERMIT  me  a  moment  to  say  how  I  would 
-*-  like  to  be  regretted.  Thus  shall  I  show 
how  fine  I  would  think  it  to  be  so  mourned. 

I  would  wish  that  my  memory  should  never 
present  itself  to  my  friends  without  bringing  a 
tear  of  tenderness  to  their  eyes,  and  a  smile 
upon  their  lips.  I  would  wish  that  they  could 
think  of  me  in  the  midst  of  their  most  intense 
joys,  without  ever  troubling  them ;  and  that 
even  at  table,  in  the  midst  of  their  feasts,  in 
rejoicings  with  strangers,  they  might  make 
some  mention  of  me.     I  would  wish  to  have 


The  Memory  We  Leave  Behind.       209 

had  enough  good  fortune,  and  sufficient  good 
qualities,  that  it  may  please  them  to  call  up 
often,  for  their  newer  friends,  some  trait  of  my 
kindly  humor  or  of  my  good  sense,  or  my  good 
heart  or  good  will ;  and  that  such  recollections 
may  render  all  hearts  more  gay,  more  pleased, 
and  set  them  in  happier  mood.  I  would  wish 
that,  till  the  last,  they  would  thus  remember 
me ;  that  they  might  be  happy  in  a  long  life, 
to  remember  me  the  longer.  I  would  wish  to 
have  a  tomb  whither  they  might  come  together 
in  fine  weather,  on  a  fine  day,  to  speak  to- 
gether of  me,  with  some  sadness  if  they  would, 
but  with  a  gentle  sadness  that  should  exclude 
no  joy.  I  would  wish  above  all,  and  I  would 
so  order  it  if  I  could,  that  during  this  tender 
ceremony,  in  the  coming  and  returning,  there 
should  be  in  all  their  feelings  and  their  expres- 
sion nothing  lugubrious  or  forbidding,  but  that 
it  might  rather  be  something  pleasant  to  see. 
I  would  wish,  in  short,  to  excite  such  regrets, 
that  those  who  should  look  upon  them  might 
neither  dread  to  experience  nor  to  inspire. 
H 


2io  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

It  is  the  image  of  the  terrible  regrets  one  may 
leave  behind,  that,  in  part,  renders  death  so 
bitter.  It  is  the  horrors  with  which  death  has 
been  surrounded,  that,  in  their  turn,  render 
the  regrets  of  the  survivors  so  terrible.  These 
two  causes  act  perpetually  upon  each  other, 
and  distract  the  soul,  disturbing  its  most  praise- 
worthy and  most  inevitable  sentiments.  It  is 
our  passions  that  have  made  the  idea  of  our 
last  hour  a  subject  of  despair  and  fright,  a 
hated  moment,  from  which  foresight  and  mem- 
ory both  turn  away.  Our  institutions  and  our 
customs,  in  their  turn,  have  made  of  it  an  event 
whose  terrible  accompaniments  we  hasten  to 
forget  as  soon  as  possible.  Instead  of  accus- 
toming ourselves  from  infancy,  both  in  thought 
and  by  our  senses,  to  regard  this  separation 
only  as  the  moment  of  a  departure  on  a  jour- 
ney to  which  there  is  no  return  ;  a  journey  that 
we  shall  one  day  make  ourselves,  doubtless  to 
meet  each  other  again  in  regions  now  unseen, 
—  we  have  taken  pains  to  forget  nothing  that 
might  render  it  an  object  of  horror.     We  have 


The  Me?nory  We  Leave  Behind.        211 

been  made  to  consider  it  as  a  chastisement,  as 
the  blow  of  an  omnipotent  executioner,  as  a 
punishment ;  and  our  friends,  those  nearest  to 
us,  quit  our  bed  of  repose  as  they  would  quit 
the  scaffold  to  which  we  are  sentenced  to 
death.  Lift  yourself,  I  conjure  you,  above 
such  commonplace,  low  sentiments.  You  are 
worthy  of  a  greater  elevation,  and  you  have 
need  of  it.  You  are  indeed  more  capable  of 
it  than  you  think ;  for  your  grief,  just  now, 
calumniates  your  reason. 

JOUBERT. 


SONNETS. 


O  LOWLY  and  softly  let  the  music  go, 

v~-^  As  ye  wind  upwards  to  the  gray  church-tower  ; 

Check  the  shrill  hautboy,  let  the  pipe  breathe  low  ; 

Tread  lightly  on  the  pathside  daisy-flower. 

For  she  ye  carry  was  a  gentle  bud, 

Loved  by  the  unsunned  drops  of  silver  dew  ; 

Her  voice  was  like  the  whisper  of  the  wood 

In  prime  of  even,  when  the  stars  are  few. 

Lay  her  all  gently  in  the  sacred  mould  ; 

Weep  with  her  one  brief  hour  ;  then  turn  away. 


"  Rise,"  said  the  Master  ;  "  come  unto  the  feast :  " 
She  heard  the  call,  and  rose  with  willing  feet. 
But,  thinking  it  not  otherwise  than  meet 
For  such  a  bidding  to  put  on  her  best, 


Sonnets,  213 


She  is  gone  from  us  for  a  few  short  hours 

Into  her  bridal  closet,  there  to  wait 

For  the  unfolding  of  the  palace-gate 

That  gives  her  entrance  to  the  blissful  bowers. 

We  have  not  seen  her  yet,  though  we  have  been 

Full  often  to  her  chamber-door,  and  oft 

Have  listened  underneath  the  postern  green, 

And  laid  fresh  flowers,   and  whispered  short  and 

soft. 
But  she  hath  made  no  answer,  and  the  day 
From  the  clear  west  is  fading  fast  away. 

H.  Alford. 


IMMORTALITY. 

A  Sermon  preached  on  All-Saints  Day. 

BY  A.   THOLUCK. 

(Translated  from  the  German.) 


^1  7"E  stand  to-day,  my  fellow- worshippers, 
*  *  at  the  end  of  the  Church  year.  The 
consideration  of  the  blessings  which,  through 
Jesus  Christ,  have  come  to  our  share,  has  again 
reached  its  close ;  and  it  remains  to  us  to  cast 
a  glance  upon  that  final  period  in  which  all 
the  blessings  of  mercy  reach  their  maturity. 
The  Church  of  our  fatherland  has  placed  the 
Feast  of  All-Souls  upon  this  last  Sunday  of  the 
Church  year ;  and  has  thus  pointed  out  to  us, 


Immortality.  215 


that  our  hopes  of  a  blessed  immortality  are  of 
a  right  sort,  only  when  we  think  of  them  as  a 
gift  of  mercy  which  mankind  could  not  have 
partaken  of,  except  through  the  only-begotten 
Son  of  God.  Consider,  then,  to-day,  all  your 
joyous  hopes,  your  blessed  prospects,  your 
'sure  expectation  of  the  other  world ;  and  re- 
member also  what  the  Word  of  God  has  told 
us  of  the  Prince  of  life,  the  loving  One  who 
says,  "  I  am  He  that  liveth,  and  was  dead  ;  and, 
behold,  I  am  alive  for  evermore,  and  have  the 
keys  of  hell  and  death."  Whatever  of  joyous 
hope,  of  blessed  prospect,  of  sure  expectation, 
exists  in  us,  all  this  shall  rest  to-day  upon 
the  word  of  the  Lord  which  he  utters  in  John 
xiv.  19,  "Because  I  live,  ye  shall  live  also." 

That  the  heart  of  the  Christian  can  rest  upon 
no  surer  ground  of  a  blessed  immortality  than 
these  emphatic  words  of  our  Lord,  we  will  now 
strive  to  recognize  in  this  hour,  and  in  the 
presence  of  God. 

And  what  other  ground  have  you,  who  are 
in  the  condition  to  look  with  hope  beyond  the 


216  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

limits  of  this  world?  On  what  other  ground 
can  you  rest  your  hopes  ?  Let  this  be  my  first 
question. 

When  our  hearts  exult  in  such  a  hope,  an 
echo  sounds  from  the  rising  of  the  sun  to  the 
spot  where  it  goes  down,  from  all  people,  in  all 
tongues,  asking,  Is  not  the  peal  of  resurrec- 
tion, sounding  in  every  man's  heart,  testimony 
enough  that  the  Father  speaks  an  amen  to  their 
joyous  hopes?  Yes:  there  lies  something  tre- 
mendous in  the  thought,  that  all  human  hearts 
that  have  throbbed  upon  earth  have  believed 
this.  And,  in  the  harmony  of  all  times  and  all 
languages,  is  it  possible  that  a  single  voice  of 
doubt  could  cry  out  in  dissonance?  And  yet, 
doubt  has  entered  in,  and  if  it  warns  us  of 
the  numbers  of  those  who,  though  they  have 
believed  in  an  eternity,  yet  have  found  day 
only  on  this  side  the  grave,  and  night  upon  the 
other !  if  it  recalls  to  us  how  as  yet  the  com- 
plete truth  has  never  been  the  possession  of  the 
multitude,  but  only  of  the  individual,  and  that 
there  is    still   more    than  one  voice    silent   at 


Immortality .  217 


every  Easter  feast  of  Christendom  !  if  it  asks 
whether  still  in  the  world  the  tender  voice  of 
truth  is  not  still  before  the  clamors  of  false- 
hood !  if  it  calls  upon  us  to  number,  not  the 
hearts  of  those  who  exult  over  this  or  that 
truth,  but  the  grounds  by  which  they  prove  it ! 
Are  we,  too,  willing  to  give  an  account  of  the 
hope  that  is  within  us?  Yet  why  need  we 
speak,  if  silent  nature  herself  has  gained  a 
tongue,  and  rebukes  the  doubter  to  his  face? 
Spring-time,  spring-time,  that  is  the  season 
when  a  Resurrection  sermon  should  be  preached 
more  loudly,  more  forcibly,  than  from  any 
Church  pulpit.  When  thousands  and  millions 
of  sleepers  awaken,  in  the  wide  kingdom  of 
nature,  a  cry  of  jubilee,  is  it  not  at  the  same 
time  the  funeral  peal  that  leads  a  sad,  desolate 
scepticism  to  its  grave  ?  So  it  appears  :  but, 
beloved,  if  our  hope  is  no  other  than  that  of 
the  leaves  and  the  buds  that  again  lift  their 
heads  in  the  spring,  if  it  is  no  other  than  this, 
what  can  counsel  us  more  ill  ?  for,  alas  !  the 
leaves  that  the  rough  winter  has  shaken  off 


218  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

violently,  and  has  laid  in  the  grave,  are  not 
the  same  that  come  again  in  spring.  I  hear, 
indeed,  a  sermon  on  immortality  in  the  joyous 
tones  of  spring ;  but  it  is  for  mankind  at  large, 
in  the  abstract,  not  for  me,  the  dry  leaf, 
that  the  harvest  storm  has  shaken  to  the 
ground.  If  my  heart  had  no  other  grounds 
on  which  it  could  build  its  hope,  then  were  it 
forsaken  indeed. 

But  is  there  not  a  teaching  of  resurrection 
that  springs  from  the  very  depths  of  the  human 
soul? 

When  I  opened  my  eyes  upon  the  clear 
daylight,  with  it  was  given  me  a  promise,  an 
earnest  of  happiness,  perfection,  and  reward. 
Where  is  its  fulfilment?  The  few  hours  of 
clear  pleasure,  gathered  out  of  weeks  of  bitter 
woe ;  the  days  of  happiness  that,  when  we 
have  once  tasted,  we  have  so  thoroughly 
tasted,  that  we  fling  them  away  like  the  peel 
of  the  juiceless  fruit,  —  is  this  the  fulfilment  of 
that  promise  with  which,  on  the  morning  of 
life,  the  light  of  day  beamed  on  the  eye  of  the 


Immortality .  219 


waking  infant  with  messages  of  joy  and  perfec- 
tion? Indeed,  many  a  branch  on  the  tree  of 
my  life  has  set  its  buds!  has  borne  blossoms 
and  fruit  indeed ;  but,  when  the  blossoms  be- 
gan to  burst  forth  in  beauty,  whence  came  the 
poisonous  mildew  that  caused  so  many  of  them 
to  die,  almost  before  they  had  left  the  bud? 
Whence  came  the  autumnal  shower  that 
stopped  the  growth  of  the  fruits  as  they  began 
to  form?  There  are,  indeed,  more  powers  in 
me ;  yes,  in  all  of  us,  I  know  there  are  more 
powers  than  those  that  ripen  under  the  sun  of 
our  earth.  It  is  not  possible,  it  cannot  be  the 
will  of  God,  that,  like  so  many  unborn  chil- 
dren, the  cold  finger  of  death  should  rest  upon 
them,  that  they  should  perish  for  ever. 

And,  as  to  my  struggle  for  virtue,  I  have 
been  defeated  indeed  ;  but  what  though  the  de- 
feats were  as  many  as  the  victories  !  still  I  have 
fought  well.  Before  thy  altar,  high'  virtue, 
have  I  offered  the  best  days  of  my  life,  along 
with  the  applause  of  men.  I  have  brought  to 
thee  the  sacrifice  of  my  gayest  hours,  through 


220  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

trust  in  an  eye  that  sees  in  secret.  And  was 
that  an  illusion?  and  was  there  no  living 
Father's  eye  there,  only  emptiness?  no  eye  of 
a  Father  to  look  into  the  hours  of  mortal  con- 
flict? And  will  there  never  come  a  day  of 
victory  for  the  good  man  who,  in  this  life,  has 
had  the  right  but  not  the  might? 

I  hear  another  voice  say  :  "  Do  you  com- 
plain, weak,  timid  heart?  The  day  for  which 
you  are  seeking  in  the  future  is  already  given 
you  in  the  present."  "Faint-hearted  one," 
says  this  voice,  "  arise  ;  do  you  mourn  that  you 
have  not  enjoyed  enough?  Unsatisfied  heart, 
though  you  have  not  the  right  to  an  hour  of 
enjoyment,  not  even  years  satisfy  you, — you 
long  for  eternities.  You  complain  that  on  the 
tree  of  your  life  there  are  blossoms  that  never 
come  to  the  budding ;  and  into  the  wide  lap  of 
nature  fall  millions  of  flowers  that  never 
reach  their  fruit,  for  whose  sake  not  a  single 
eye  is  wet  with  tears.  And  this  is  right.  Who 
would  lament  over  the  blossoms  that  fall  to  the 
ground,  when,  in  the    harvest,  there    is    fruit 


Immortality.  221 


enough  on  the  tree  to  make  the  heart  laugh 
with  joy?     Learn  to  serve  mankind,  not  your- 
self  alone.     What   you   labor   upon    perishes 
not;  it  lives  again  in  ever-new  forms.     But  as 
to  your  virtue.     Oh,  what  a  pitiable  hireling  is 
that  who  finds  not  the  fairest  reward  of  victory 
in  the  fact  of  struggling  and  seeking  for  vic- 
tory, but  longs  weakly  for  the  crown  of  laurel ! 
And  what  if  the  last  breath  of  the  dying  man, 
at  the  end  of  a  well-enjoyed  life,  full  of  labor 
and  well  fought  through,   should  be  actually 
the  last,  and  for  all  time?     Does  the  warrior, 
when  the  bullet  strikes  him  in  the  very  begin- 
ning of  the  battle,  after  he  has  held  a  little 
while  his  position,  —  does  he  weep  like  a  woman 
because  he  is  shut  out  from  the  advance,  and 
from  the  triumph  of  his  army?     He  has  filled 
his  place  ;  he  has  lived  long  enough.     If  you 
have  any  heart  for  mankind,  be  satisfied.     If 
you  must  fall  at  your  post,  without  ever  rising 
again,  why  will  you  whimper  and  lament,  in- 
stead of  bathing  your  spirit  in  the  prospect  of 
an  ever-advancing   progress    in    the  conquest 


222  The  Service  of  Sorrow, 


of  your  race  rising  onward  to  the  infinite,  in 
the  victory  in  which  you  have  borne  your 
part  ?  " 

Such  a  voice  I  hear  before  the  doors  of  the 
holy  place  of  the  Christian  Church ;  and  at  its 
hollow  sound  you  shudder  in  your  hearts,  — 
you  who  stand  in  the  communion  of  the  Lord. 
Then  a  sound  of  a  cry  of  victory  thunders 
through  the  assembly,  "Because  I  live,  ye 
shall  live  also ; "  and,  as  awakened  from  a 
heavy  dream,  all  eyes  and  all  hearts  turn 
whither  that  cry  presses  forth. 

"I  live,"  the  voice  says,  and  lays  a  founda- 
tion for  our  hope  that  neither  time  nor  eternity 
can  shake.  He  lives  in  whom  "the  divine  and 
the  human  were  united  ;  where  all  fulness  finds 
its  completion."  And  through  his  mere  exist- 
ence he  gives  us  a  security  that  not  only  man- 
kind, but  man  also,  —  this  poor  individual, 
fleeting  son  of  the  hour,  — is  an  immortal  being. 
The  wise  men  of  this  day  would  grant  immor- 
tality only  to  mankind  at  large  ;  for  their  faith 
is  not  capable  of  comprehending,  that  the  heart 


Immortality.  223 

of  a  single  transient  son  of  the  hour  is  large 
enough  to  take  in  the  fulness  of  eternity  as  a 
temple  of  God.  And  indeed,  when  we  see  how, 
even  in  its  boldest  flight,  the  most  gifted  human 
soul  strives  in  vain  after  the  full  truth ;  how, 
even  after  a  struggle  of  eighty  years,  a  John 
must  cry  out,  "  If  we  say  that  we  have  no  sin, 
we  deceive  ourselves ;  "  when  we  see  how  the 
wisdom  of  each  century  becomes  folly  before 
that  of  the  next ;  and,  alas  !  when  we  first 
enter  the  huts  of  misery,  and  draw  near  the 
dying  bed  of  the  old  man,  fallen  back  again 
into  childishness ;  or,  if  you  have  ever  stood 
in  presence  of  the  dying,  watching  the  death 
struggle,  and  that  glassy  eye  that  gleams  only 
despair, — oh,  indeed,  it  requires  much  to  be- 
lieve that  this  solitary,  transient  son  of  the 
hour,  that  indeed  any  one  of  us,  can  be 
the  man  whom  God  has  created  in  his  image, 
and  has  created  for  an  eternal  life.  And  yet, 
"I  live,"  Christ  says,  and  points  thus  to  a  ful- 
ness of  life,  even  in  individual  man,  that  shall 
not  pass  away  in  death.     Here  you  see,  in  one 


224  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

mortal,  divinity  so  united  with  humanity,  that 
even  death  has  no  more  power  over  him. 
Therefore,  he  speaks  in  complete  consciousness 
himself  of  his  own  power  of  life :  "  I  have 
power  to  lay  it  down,  and  I  have  power  to  take 
it  again."  He  who  allowed  that  cry  of  life  to 
resound  into  the  grave  of  another,  "Lazarus, 
come  forth," — he  indeed  cannot  be  the  servant 
of  death.  I  have  seen  thy  majesty,  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,  as  the  majesty  of  the  only-begotten  Son 
of  the  Father  ;  He  whom,  while  He  yet  walked 
upon  earth,  death  must  needs  obey,  like  a  sub- 
ject servant,  —  He,  I  surely  know,  is  no  fleet- 
ing wave  in  the  stream  of  mankind. 

"I  live,"  he  says,  "  and  you  shall  live  also ;" 
as  if  he  would  say,  "  Oh  my  beloved  disciples  ! 
as  you  may  yet  be  the  servants  of  death,  I  will 
indeed  keep  nothing  for  my  own  ;  my  life  shall 
be  your  life  ;  and  where  I  am,  shall  my  disci- 
ples be  also."  We  have  looked  upon  him,  and 
are  certain  of  this.  Over  this  life  death  could 
have    no    power ;    and    should   the   day  come 


Immortality.  225 


when  all  the  suns  and  all  the  earths,  bowed 
down  with  the  weakness  of  age,  should  tum- 
ble into  a  deep  abyss,  above  the  falling  suns 
and  the  falling  earths  would  Christ,  the  Living 
One,  stand  and  say,  "I  am  alive  for  evermore, 
and  have  the  keys  of  death  and  hell."  This 
we  know  well. 

But  are  we  not  also,  in  the  very  presence  of 
his  humanity,  conscious  of  our  own?  Now  his 
"  I  live  "  casts  us  to  the  ground  ;  but  his  "  ye 
shall  live  also  "  is  our  resurrection.  What  he 
here  but  darkly  says,  — that  he  will  keep  no- 
thing to  himself,  this  perfect  Son  of  Man  ;  that 
all  he  has  he  will  share  with  his  own,  —  other 
passages  in  Scripture  have  many  times  uttered 
to  us  more  expressly.  "For  whom  he  did  fore- 
know, he  also  did  predestinate  to  be  conformed 
to  the  image  of  his  Son,  that  he  might  be  the 
first-born  among  many  brethren,"  says  the 
Apostle  Paul.  "Beloved,"  says  John,  "now 
are  we  the  sons  of  God,  and  it  does  not  yet 
appear  what  we  shall  be  ;  but  we  know,  that, 
when  he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be  like  him." 
15 


226  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

This  may  appear  to  us  inconceivable  when  we 
consider  what  we  now  are,  —  full  of  sin,  blind- 
ness, and  uncleanness ;  but  faith  seizes  the 
promise,  and  with  the  eye  of  faith  I  see  it  now 
already  done  and  completed.  With  the  eye  of 
faith  I  see  you  baptized  into  the  death  of  Christ, 
and  risen  with  him  to  the  new  life  in  God. 
With  the  eye  of  faith  I  see  you  already,  the 
tears  of  time  and  its  struggles  behind  you ; 
with  him,  your  first-born  brother,  taking  pos- 
session of  his  throne,  sharing  his  crown,  and 
ruling  his  inheritance  from  eternity  to  eternity. 
This  I  see ;  for  I  rest  upon  the  words  of  the 
Lord,  "Because  I  live,  ye  shall  live  also." 
And  the  hope  of  my  immortality  rests  upon  a 
foundation  that  not  time  nor  can  eternity  shake 
away.  He  in  whom  the  fulness  of  life  has 
appeared,  —  He  has  promised  us  who  believed 
on  Him,  that  we  shall  be  partakers  of  his  life, 
giving  the  other  ground  upon  which  our  Chris- 
tian hope  of  immortality  rests. 

We  walk  encircled  by  death ;    but,   at  the 
same  time,  the  life  that  we  shall  live  for  ever 


Immortality,  227 


with  him  has  already  begun  in  us.     His  "  you 
shall  live   also  "  is  not  merely  a  promise  for 
eternity,  but  also  for  time.     "We  know,"  says 
John,  "that  we  have  passed  from  death  unto 
life."      The    disciples    of    Christ    "taste    the 
powers  of  the  world  to  come,"  writes  the  apos- 
tle to  the  Hebrews.     "We  have  the  first-fruits 
of  the   Spirit,"  writes    Paul   to    the    Romans. 
The   Christian,  if  any  man   upon    earth    can 
have  it,  has  this  consciousness,  "  I  do  not  live 
my  life  out  utterly  upon  this  earth."     Is  it  not 
this  that  gives  the  force  to  all  these  proofs  of 
immortality  when  they  have  an  influence  over 
the  soul  ?     Then  it  is  that  such  proofs  are  not 
cast  down  by  the  words  of  our  Master,  —  on 
which,   as  Christians,  we  support  our  hopes, 
—  but   then   first  gain  their  full  signification. 
For  it  is  clear  that,  taken  in  the  sense  in  which 
the  child  of  the  world  trusts,  "I  have  not  yet 
fully  enjoyed,  not  yet  fully  labored,"  there  is 
no  firm  anchorage.     One  who  is  not  willing  to 
leave  the  world,  though  it  is  leaving  him,  may 
say,  "I   have   not   yet   fully  lived."     Such    a 


228  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

one  has  indeed  a  feeling  that  he  has  lived  but 
superficially,  that  he  has  not  thoroughly  lived ; 
and  hence  there  rise  sweet,  soft  dreamings, 
that  the  life  that  is  here  begun  must  needs  go 
on.  But  appearances  contradict  this.  All 
that  was  his  enjoyment  goes  with  him  to  the 
grave.  For  him,  when  it  is  evening,  the 
streets  grow  still.  Now  the  window  is  closed, 
and  now  the  door ;  and  scarcely  a  single  step 
sounds  through  the  street.  Thus  has  his 
evening  come  to  meet  him.  The  doors  of 
sense  are  closed.  Old  age  is  a  silent  cham- 
ber wherein,  undisturbed  by  this  world,  the 
soul  should  busy  itself  with  the  future  one. 
The  doors  of  sense  have  closed  upon  him,  and 
have  preached  to  him  that  all  is  over  for  him 
with  this  world's  pleasures.  The  evening  is 
the  sure  messenger  of  the  night.  The  very 
thing  which  is  the  dearest  to  him  he  cannot 
take  away  with  him.  So  do  all  appearances 
show  him  that  he  has  outlived  himself.  And 
not  only  is  there  no  firm  reason  for  hoping  that 
he  has  not  outlived  enjoyment  upon  earth,  he 


Immortality.  229 


has  also  outlived  his  work  here.  For  what  has 
been  his  work?  He  has  labored:  yes,  he  has 
built  mansions  ;  but  no  other  than  those  which 
will  fall  away  together  with  himself,  and  sink 
into  the  same  grave.  One  building  alone  can  a 
man  raise  up  for  himself  that  will  not  crumble 
with  him  into  his  earthly  grave,  —  the  temple 
of  a  soul  consecrated  to  God.  But  you  —  you 
have  outlived  your  labor,  and  all  appearances 
teach  you  so.  Are  you  unwilling  to  confess 
that  you  yourself  do  not  believe  in  your  sweet 
dreams  of  immortality?  You  cannot  deny  it. 
Your  fear  of  death  gives  you  the  lie.  You 
cannot  deny  it.  A  man  who  grows  pale  in  the 
presence  of  death  has  no  sure  ground  for  his 
hope.  Who  is  there  that  would  faint  before 
the  thought  of  death,  who  was  conscious  that 
the  day  of  his  death  was  to  be  the  day  of  his 
birth? 

This  we  believe  as  Christians.  "You  shall 
also  live,"  our  Master  has  said  ;  and  we  already 
taste  of  that  life  which  never  ends.  The  disci- 
ples of  Christ  "  taste  the  powers  of  the  world 


230  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

to  come."  They  walk  on  earth  and  live  in 
heaven.  These  are  only  "  the  first-fruits " 
which  they  have  received,  as  Paul  calls  them ; 
and  the  apostle  calls  these  first-fruits  of  the 
Spirit  "the  earnest  "  by  which  God  has  sealed 
them  that  they  are  his  children. 

"  My  life  began  when  I  loved  thee,"  they 
say  to  their  Lord ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  are 
they  conscious  that  they  can  love  him  yet  much 
more.  And  both  their  love  and  their  thirst  for 
love  is  an  earnest  to  them  of  eternal  life. 
With  glorifying  and  praise  and  thankfulness 
they  have  experienced  that  they  are  redeemed 
from  the  world,  and  are  transplanted  into  the 
kingdom  of  God.  God  has  begun  to  rule  in 
them ;  yet  they  pray  daily,  K  Thy  kingdom 
come."  It  is  still  coming,  till  God  shall  be  all 
in  all  in  us.  Therefore,  let  him  grow  pale  who 
will,  the  Christian  is  not  terrified,  though  there 
sounds  forth  the  message  which  the  prophet 
brought  to  the  dying  king,  Hezekiah,  "Set 
thine  house  in  order,  for  thou  shalt  die."  I 
am  not  terrified,  for  my  house  is  easily  set  in 


Immortality .  231 


order ;  my  accounts  are  blotted  out ;  my  best 
possession  I  take  with  me ;  my  dear  ones  I 
bequeath  to  the  great  Father  of  the  fatherless, 
to  whom  belongs  heaven  and  earth ;  my  body 
I  leave  to  the  earth,  and  my  soul  to  my  Mas- 
ter, who  has  won  it  through  a  long  life,  and 
has  bought  it  with  his  blood.  Is  not  this  a 
blessed  lot? 

I  have  not  yet  lived  out  my  whole  of  life ; 

For  Christ  has  given  me  of  his  cup  to  taste, 

And  on  my  heart  one  tender  line  has  traced. 

So,  though  I  should  live  out  this  mortal  strife, 

Yet,  in  the  ages  of  eternity, 

Living  and  earnest  shall  my  spirit  be  : 

I  have  not  yet  lived  out  the  whole  of  life. 

Would  you  be  so  blessed?  Learn  it  from 
experience ;  learn  it  in  daily  intercourse  with 
the  Saviour,  who  truly  lives,  and  is  near  to  all 
your  souls ;  learn  what  mean  the  words,  "  Be- 
cause I  live,  you  shall  live  also."  Live  with 
Christ,  and  there  is  none  of  you  who  will  not 
cry  out  in  joyous  faith,  — 

My  sorrow,  grief,  my  pain,  my  anxious  care, 
In  the  Lord's  sepulchre  lie  buried  deep ; 


232 


The  Service  of  Sorrow. 


Near  his  pale  body,  in  its  deathless  sleep, 
My  sorrows,  griefs,  and  cares  lie  buried  there. 

The  Lord  is  risen  indeed ! 

Angels  to  meet  him  speed ! 
Where  is  my  pain,  my  anxious  sorrow,  where  ? 
Up  from  the  tomb  he  rose,  and  left  them  buried  there. 


CHRIST  MUST  NEEDS  HAVE  SUFFERED. 

A   SERMON,   BY   EDWARD    E.    HALE. 
"  Christ  must  needs  have  suffered."  —  Acts  xvii.  3. 


/^\UR  first  duty  as  to  suffering  is  to  relieve 
^^  it  when  we  can.  If  we  find  a  blind 
child,  we  strive  to  restore  him  to  sight,  or  we 
send  him  where  his  other  faculties  can  be  best 
trained.  Or  is  there  danger  of  fever,  or  of 
cholera,  in  a  poor  neighborhood,  we  go  to 
work  to  see  it  cleansed,  purified,  and  made 
safe.  And,  as  the  world  advances,  it  suc- 
ceeds in  correcting  many  forms  of  suffering. 
It  finds  out  vaccination ;  it  uses  ether  in  sur- 


234  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

gery ;  it  insures  men  against  fire ;  it  insures 
widows  and  orphans,  when  husbands  or  fathers 
die.  Our  battle  with  human  suffering  is  thus 
relieved  by  occasional  victories. 

I  am  afraid  that,  from  these  occasional  vic- 
tories, there  springs  a  misapprehension  of 
human  suffering  or  affliction.  Are  you  not 
conscious  sometimes  of  a  lurking  feeling,  that 
we  might  arrange  things  so  that  we  should  be 
rid  of  it  all  ?  Do  you  not  find  that  there  lurks 
in  you  something  of  the  feeling  of  early  times, 
that  some  sort  of  devil  brings  it  all  in  on  us, 
and  that  it  is  a  kind  of  victory  won  over  the 
intentions  of  God?  That  undefined  feeling 
springs,  perhaps,  from  the  fact,  that  we  are 
always  trying  to  relieve  the  sufferings  of 
others.  The  false  inference  is  drawn,  that 
some  one  might  have  relieved  us  of  ours. 

That  false  inference  will  be  swept  away, 
and  a  truer  view  will  come  in,  if  we  will 
fairly  compare  our  condition  in  this  matter 
with  that  of  Jesus.  Just  after  his  resurrection, 
he  explained  this  to  the  two  travellers,  on  their 


Christ  must  JVeeds  have  Suffered.      235 

way  to  Emmaus,  "that  Christ  must  have  suf- 
fered." They  had  not  understood  it  before. 
I  suppose  that  we  Christians  of  to-day  think 
we  do  understand  it.  We  acknowledge  that 
Christ  must  have  suffered.  We  build  a  great 
deal  on  his  suffering.  But  still  I  am  afraid, 
that  practically  we  do  not  understand  an  im- 
portant consequence  of  the  lesson;  viz.,  that, 
if  we  be  Christ's  brothers  and  sisters,  in  his 
work,  living  his  life,  we  must  suffer  too,  be- 
fore we  shall  work  that  work  through,  or  live 
that  life  through. 

We  say,  very  faithfully,  "  Christ  was  made 
perfect  through  suffering."  Do  we  say  as 
faithfully,  "  If  we  are  ever  made  perfect,  it 
must  be  through  suffering  "  ?  Or  do  we  not 
think  that  our  suffering  comes  in  as  some- 
thing so  made  up  of  human  weakness, — the 
result  of  human  causes,  —  that  we  could  do 
very  well  without  it?  Do  not  we  look  on  all  suf- 
fering as  if  it  all  belonged  to  the  class  of  pain 
which  can  be  relieved?  Is  it  not  carelessly 
spoken  of  as  one    of  the  mistakes   of  human 


236  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

nature,  which  more  advanced  civilization  or  a 
more  pure  Christianity  will  sweep  away ;  as 
the  famines  of  savage  tribes  are  got  rid  of 
when  they  grow  up  to  civilization,  —  as  the 
stroke  of  lightning  has  been  disarmed  by  one 
lucky  hit  of  science  ?  Christ  must  needs  have 
suffered.  Yes ;  but  do  we  not  look  on  it  as  a 
misfortune,  rather  than  a  necessity,  when  we 
suffer  too? 

I.  To  set  ourselves  right  in  this  matter,  I 
have  said  that  we  might  compare  our  position 
with  Christ's  own.  First,  we  are  to  note,  that 
the  Gospel  theory  of  life  says  and  promises 
very  little  about  happiness,  or  the  relief  from 
suffering.  It  may  be  doubted  if  it  speaks  of  it 
at  all.  The  Gospel  takes  it  for  granted,  that 
men  who  do  their  duty  must  suffer.  That  is 
the  distinction  between  doing  what  we  ought 
to  do,  and  mere  doing  what  we  "  want"  to  do. 
The  Gospel  orders  a  myriad  of  men  forward 
on  a  majestic  duty, — the  re-formation  of  a 
world.  It  calls  them  to  that  duty,  as  children 
of  God.      It  points    to  them  his  well-beloved 


Christ  must  JVeeds  have  Suffered.      237 

Son,  his  first-born,  their  elder  brother,  leading 
the  way.  It  bids  them  gird  themselves  to  that 
work,  as  children  of  the  Almighty.  And,  with 
every  whisper  and  injunction,  it  shows  them 
that  that  God  is  with  them  all  the  while.  Is 
their  duty  with  the  sick,  God  is  there ;  with 
the  wicked,  God  is  there ;  in  the  wilderness, 
God  is  there  ;  on  the  sea,  God  is  there.  Now, 
in  inciting  them  thus,  in  compelling  them  by 
these  high  demands,  the  Gospel  does  not  de- 
scend to  speak  of  the  agreeableness  or  ele- 
gance or  delicacy  or  happiness  of  the  duty. 
It  takes  it  for  granted  that  it  will  require  re- 
nunciation. Jesus  says,  in  his  general  orders, 
"  Take  up  your  cross,  and  follow  me."  He 
does  not  say,  "  You  shall  have  pleasant 
weather,  if  you  follow  me ; "  or,  "  It  shall  be 
a  broad,  easy  road,  if  you  follow  me ; "  or, 
"  You  shall  reap  in  a  field  where  there  are  no 
briars,  if  you  follow  me."  No.  There  is  a 
good  deal  said,  on  the  other  hand,  about 
crosses  and  tears,  about  narrow  paths  and 
thorny  ways.     For  the  object  is  not  our  hap- 


238  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

piness  :  it  is  the  salvation  of  the  world, — the 
bringing  men  to  God.  The  campaign  is  not  a 
sham  review,  in  which  we  are  to  be  amused. 
It  is  a  great  battle,  of  which  the  victory  is 
God's  glory.  In  the  beginning  of  that  cam- 
paign, it  must  needs  be  that  Christ  suffered. 
As  it  goes  on,  it  must  needs  be  we  suffer,  too. 
II.  The  Gospel  does  not  promise,  that  we 
shall  be  rid  of  suffering.  Jesus  seems  to  have 
thought  as  little  of  abolishing  suffering  for  his 
brethren  as  he  thought  of  lifting  them  at  once, 
without  training,  to  heaven.  This  is  the  se- 
cond feature  in  his  view  of  it.  Not  only  does 
he  regard  it  as  a  necessary  incident  of  human 
nature,  but  also  he  regards  it  as  essential  to 
the  hardening  and  strengthening  of  our  di- 
vine nature,  necessary  to  prepare  us  for  heaven. 
He  speaks  of  suffering,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
where  infinite  souls  are  shut  up  in  human  or 
limited  bodies  ;  and  then  he  says  that  it  works 
good  for  them  in  the  end.  He  does  not  say, 
therefore,  "  You  shall  not  mourn,"  as  false 
prophets   do;    nor,   "You  ought   not  mourn," 


Christ  must  Needs  have  Suffered.      239 

as  Job's  comforters  do ;  nor,  "  You  do  not 
mourn,"  as  certain  stoics  do.  But  he  says, 
"  Blessed  are  they  who  do  mourn."  Blessed, 
—  not  happy.  He  does  not  say,  "  Happy  are 
those  who  are  not  happy."  There  is  no  such 
miserable  contradiction  as  that  in  the  Gospels. 
That  is  left  to  sentimental  poetry  to  tell  you  — 

"There's  such  a  charm  in  melancholy, 
I  would  not,  if  I  could,  be  gay;  " 

or  it  is  left  to  modern  religious  tracts  to  pre- 
tend to.  It  is  not  the  Gospel  statement.  But 
Jesus  does  say,  to  you  who  mourn,  that  you  are 
blessed,  —  blessed  with  the  presence  of  an 
angel,  who,  if  you  please,  brings  you  close 
to  God. 

III.  The  Gospel  does  say,  that  sorrow 
and  suffering  are  temporary.  Jesus  looks  at 
men's  life  as  eternal,  —  running  on  for  ever; 
and  sometimes  speaks  of  it  without  alluding 
to  death,  regarding  that  as  the  transient  inci- 
dent it  is,  —  as  I  might  speak  of  the  history  of 
this  country,  without  alluding  to  the  fact,  that 
part  of  it  was  in  one  century,  and  part  in  an- 


240  The  Service  of  Sorrow, 


other.  Jesus  speaks  of  life  as  eternal ;  and, 
because  he  does,  there  comes  in  an  obscurity 
sometimes  when  we  try  to  construe  his  words, 
as  if  he  spoke  only  of  the  seventy  or  eighty 
years  which  make  the  beginning  of  it. 
Speaking  so,  he  says  that  trouble,  sorrow, 
grief,  are  nothing  in  comparison  to  the  future. 
But,  when  he  stands  by  the  weeping  sisters, 
he  does  not  say  that  grief  is  nothing  then.  He 
does  not  say,  "You  ought  not  weep;"  "You 
do  not  weep;"  nor,  "You  will  not  weep." 
No.     He  weeps  too. 

These  seem  to  me  the  principles  on  which 
sorrow  is  treated  by  him,  and  on  which  we 
ought  to  regard  it  now  :  First,  sorrow  is  ;  and, 
in  a  wrorld  where  physical  restraints  hem  in 
immortal  spirits,  sorrow  and  suffering  will  be. 
Second,  that  sorrow  is  the  gate  of  wisdom. 
By  it  these  spirits  are  trained  to  their  highest 
life.  Christ  himself,  we  know  not  how,  is 
made  perfect  through  suffering.  So  Peter 
the  timid  fisherman  becomes  Peter  the  tri- 
umphant   apostle.       We    know    how.       It    is 


Christ  must  Needs  have  Suffered,       241 

through  the  bitter  tears  of  the  court  of  the 
high-priest's  palace.  So  Christ  says,  "Blessed 
are  they  that  mourn."  Third,  sorrow  and 
suffering  are  temporary.  And,  when  looking 
at  eternal  life,  Jesus  says,  "  Let  not  your 
hearts  be  troubled,"  but  goes  on  to  show  that 
he  means  that  their  trouble  of  that  moment 
shall  be  soothed  by  their  hope  of  the  future. 

These  principles,  I  think,  may  be  traced 
out  in  all  his  sorrows,  and  in  his  blessed  in- 
terviews with  those  that  mourn. 

Thus  :  they  meet  a  blind  man.  The  dis- 
ciples try  to  trace  the  origin  of  evil,  —  a  thing 
I  advise  you  never  to  do.  "Who  did  sin,  this 
man  or  his  parents,  that  he  was  born  blind?" 
"Neither,"  says  Jesus,  and  shows  that  the  use 
of  that  suffering  is  in  the  cure  he  brings  to  us, 
—  a  lesson  we  can  carry  home,  every  one  of  us, 
and  apply  where  we  see  suffering  next  which 
admits  a  cure.  Again :  "  It  has  been  said, 
Thou  shalt  love  thy  neighbor  and  hate  thine 
enemy.  But  I  say,  Love  your  enemies ;  do 
good  to  them  that  hate  you,  and  pray  for 
16 


242  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

them  that  despitefully  use  you."  That  is,  we 
are  to  make  use  of  what  we  suffer  from  men 
as  a  part  of  our  training  for  heaven.  When 
he  sends  out  his  apostles  to  preach,  "  Take 
nothing  for  your  journey,"  —  not  a  staff,  not 
a  scrip,  nor  even  money ;  that  is,  do  not  count 
your  own  comfort  at  all  in  comparison  with 
your  effect  upon  the  world;  that  is  all  in  all. 
"When  you  come  to  a  house,  say,  Peace  be 
upon  this  house."  What  if  they  are  not  re- 
ceived? What  if  they  meet  the  sorrow  of 
men  who  are  despised?  Then  "let  your 
peace  return  upon  yourselves."  That  is,  be 
more  peaceful,  more  gentle,  for  the  rebuff. 
Let  your  sorrow  be  your  training.  "Do  not 
think,"  he  goes  on,  "that  I  have  come  to  send 
peace  on  earth.  It  is  not  peace,  but  a  sword." 
But  this  enmity  shall  not  last  for  ever;  for 
"  whosoever  shall  confess  me  before  men,  him 
will  I  also  confess  before  my  Father."  "  He 
that  loseth  his  life  for  my  sake  shall  find  it." 
Sorrow  is  temporary ;  life,  real  life,  is  eternal. 
And  the  same  is  the  spirit  of  the  words  which 


Christ  must  Needs  have  Suffered,      243 

bless  so  many  mourning  hearts,  when  he 
came  to  the  tomb  of  Lazarus.  He  does  not 
say,  "You  ought  not  mourn."  Why,  the 
sisters  are  weeping ;  the  people  round  are 
weeping ;  he  is  weeping  himself,  —  sighing 
and  troubled  in  spirit.  He  says  through  his 
tears,  "Whoso  liveth  and  believeth  shall  never 
die.  What  you  see  is  temporary ;  life  is  eter- 
nal." The  same  lesson  as  when  he  says  that 
the  loss  of  hand  or  foot  is  nothing,  the  loss  of 
earthly  life  nothing,  if,  in  that  loss,  though  it 
were  at  the  stake  of  agony,  one  maintain  the 
purity  of  the  immortal  soul.  As  when,  just 
before  his  own  death,  he  says,  in  the  temple 
courts,  "  Except  a  corn  of  wheat  fall  into  the 
ground  and  die,  it  abideth  alone  ;  but,  if  it  die, 
it  bringeth  forth  much  fruit." 

In  selecting  these  illustrations  from  his  own 
words,  I  have  passed  along  his  life  in  order, 
taking  one  quotation  for  each  lesson  which  he 
taught  us  as  to  our  mourning.  They  are  not 
lessons,  however,  of  that  cold  kind  which  are 
sometimes  brought  to  mourners  by  those  who 


244  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

have  never  felt  at  all.  This  is  not  the  spirit  of 
what  we  call  Job's  comforters,  "who  jest  at 
scars,  but  never  felt  a  wound."  No.  Here  are 
the  words  of  one  who  knew  our  sufferings  as 
well  as  we  do.  He  was  homeless ;  he  had 
friends  who  failed  him ;  he  was  surrounded 
by  those  who  ridiculed  him.  Eager  to  serve 
men,  he  was  said  to  be  in  league  with  devils. 
Loving  all,  he  was  used  despitefully,  spoken 
of  as  a  wine-bibber  and  a  madman,  and  really 
driven,  an  outcast,  from  town  to  town.  It  is 
he,  who,  when  death  is  right  before  him,  tells 
us  that  our  troubles  are  but  for  a  moment,  and 
that  in  heaven  we  have  many  mansions.  It  is 
he,  who,  surrounded  by  the  men  who  will  take 
his  life,  says,  "If  it  die,  it  will  bring  forth 
much  fruit;"  He,  the  Man  of  Sorrows,  so  well 
acquainted  with  grief,  who  says,  "Blessed"  — 
though  not  happy  —  "  are  they  that  mourn." 

So  much,  in  our  mourning  for  the  friends 
we  have  lost, — our  little  children,  or  our 
strongest,  or  our  best,  —  do  we  gain  in  having 
the  word  of  God  come  to  us  by  his  lips,  in  a 


Christ  must  Needs  have  Suffered.       245 


human  life.  It  is  not  the  cold  comfort  of  dead 
words  carved  out  in  some  table  of  stone  :  it  is 
the  loving  sympathy  of  a  weeping  Saviour. 
It  is  not  the  calm,  oracular  direction  of  a  high- 
priest,  who  does  not  partake  of  our  infirmities, 
but  the  blessed  love  of  one  who  wept  with  us, 
hungered  with  us,  and  thirsted  with  us ; 
whose  heart-strings  were  strained  as  ours  are  ; 
and  who  passed  through  all  as  he  begs  us  to 
do.  It  is  not,  again,  the  poor  human  demon- 
stration of  one  who  has  worked  out  a  system 
by  which  he  thinks  death  can  be  explained, 
and  who  demonstrates  to  the  last,  as  poor 
Socrates  did,  —  till  the  hemlock  came :  it  is 
the  triumphant  utterance  of  that  Son  of  God 
who  died,  as  he  lived,  in  the  full  presence  of 
his  Father,  and  to  whom  the  agony  of  his 
death  was,  as  the  countless  agonies  of  his  life, 
only  a  part  of  the  suffering  which  he  was  eager 
to  share  with  us,  that  we  might  know  how  to 
bear  ours.  So  Christ  must  needs  have  suf- 
fered. So  we,  if  we  will  do  our  duty  here, 
and  if  we  will  be  trained  to  higher  service 
there,  must  needs  suffer  too. 


THE   SHORE   OF   ETERNITY. 


A  LONE  !  to  land  alone  upon  that  shore, 

With  no  one  sight  that  we  have  seen  before  ; 
Things  of  a  different  hue, 
And  the  sounds  all  new, 
And  fragrances  so  sweet,  the  soul  may  faint. 
Alone  !     Oh  that  first  hour  of  being  a  saint ! 

Alone  !  to  land  alone  upon  that  shore 

On  which  no  wavelets  lisp,  no  billows  roar ; 

Perhaps  no  shape  of  ground, 

Perhaps  no  sight  or  sound  ; 
No  forms  of  earth  our  fancies  to  arrange, 
But  to  begin  alone  that  mighty  change. 


The  Shore  of  Eternity.  247 

Alone  !  to  land  alone  upon  that  shore, 
Knowing  so  well  we  can  return  no  more  ; 

No  voice  or  face  of  friend, 

None  with  us  to  attend 
Our  disembarking  on  that  awful  strand, 
But  to  arrive  alone  in  such  a  land  ! 

Alone  !  to  land  alone  upon  that  shore  ; 
To  begin  alone  to  live  for  evermore ; 

To  have  no  one  to  teach 

The  manners  or  the  speech 
Of  that  new  life,  or  put  us  at  our  ease : 
Oh  that  we  might  die  in  pairs  or  companies ! 

Alone?     No  !     God  hath  been  there  long  before  ; 
Eternally  hath  waited  on  that  shore 

For  us  who  were  to  come 

To  our  eternal  home  ; 
And  He  hath  taught  His  angels  to  prepare 
In  what  way  we  are  to  be  welcomed  there. 

Like  one  that  waits  and  watches,  He  hath  sate 
As  if  there  were  none  else  for  whom  to  wait ; 

Waiting  for  us,  —  for  us 

Who  keep  Him  waiting  thus, 


248  The  Service  of  Sorrow. 

And  who  bring  less  to  satisfy  His  love 
Than  any  other  of  the  souls  above. 

Alone?     The  God  we  know  is  on  that  shore, 
The  God  of  whose  attractions  we  know  more 

Than  of  those  who  may  appear 

Nearest  and  dearest  here  ; 
Oh  !  is  He  not  the  life-long  friend  we  know 
More  privately  than  any  friend  below  ? 

Alone?     The  God  we  trust  is  on  that  shore, 
The  Faithful  One  whom  we  have  trusted  more, 

In  trials  and  in  woes, 

Than  we  have  trusted  those 
On  whom  we  leaned  most  in  our  earthly  strife : 
Oh,  we  shall  trust  Him  more  in  that  new  life  ! 

Alone?     The  God  we  love  is  on  that  shore, 
Love  not  enough,  yet  whom  we  love  far  more, 

And  whom  we've  loved  all  through, 

And  with  a  love  more  true 
Than  other  loves, — yet  now  shall  love  Him  more  ; 
True  love  of  Him  begins  upon  that  shore. 


The  Shore  of  Eternity.  249 

So  not  alone  we  land  upon  that  shore  ; 
'Twill  be  as  though  we  had  been  there  before. 

We  shall  meet  more  we  know 

Than  we  can  meet  below, 
And  find  our  rest  like  some  returning  dove, 
And  be  at  home  at  once  with  our  Eternal  Love  ! 

F.  W.  Faber,  D.D. 


Cambridge  :  Press  of  John  Wilson  &  Son. 


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